Show Class, Have Pride and Display Character
by Telaka
Summary: AU. Teenagers Ororo, Logan and Remy were never the most popular in a crowd, and all for their own reasons, but then again who wants to be admired, or even just liked? Who would want to lead a normal life away from experiments and heartache and stigma?
1. Two Of A Kind And One On The Side

**_Show Class, Have Pride and Display Character_**

**__**

**_Disclaimers_**_: I do not own the general concept of X-Men Evolution, everyone knows who does and everyone knows I wont make any money from this. I have no money to sue me with anyway so don't waste your time trying to.___

**_Author's note _**

Okay before I start telling the tales of Ororo, Logan and Remy, I have to let you know that this piece is purely experimental (as is with most AU's in general) and I have no idea about what's going to happen, how it will end, where who will end up and so on. It's a brave attempt at an Evolution AU, or even just and Evolution fiction as I said I'd never write one, but hey, I'm going to give it a go anyway. Any feedback is much welcome (although I find flames a waste of time; if you don't like the story then don't read it: simple) and I will most definitely take into account what you have to say, all of you kind reviewers.

So with that out of the way all I can say it enjoy (I hope).

_ Telaka _

----

Darkness everywhere. Save few would have been able to see through the smokescreen of silky black shadows with the naked eye alone but these were her circumstances to work in and she had little case to argue against them. With every step she took she took it cautiously and with amazing care, never daring to put a toe wrong lest she tripped or stumbled noisily and brought unwanted attention to herself.

She had been told no more about this job than to 'improvise' with what the environment offered her. The smudged grey outlines of this foreign territory 'offered' her no more than what was needed, a 3D map of where to put her feet. There was no stray flint lying around for a fire of loose wires to make a spark, nothing. So she would change the rules slightly and improvise with her wits instead.

Her ears perked at the sounds muffled by the dark; a distant rustle, a dying wind, the tortured mew of an old, stray tomcat. Nothing she could hear was of any significance to her mission.

She strained with her eyes to see what shapes the smudged outlines made. Lonely deserted buildings with dark alleyways stitched in between the brick lattices and cracked roads weaving in and out between them were what made up the bulk of this environment. There was the occasional abandoned car or rotted tree but apart from that there was nothing else of importance here that she could make out.

Her nerves began to relax despite herself and her defences lowered with them. The land of Genosha was a hostile one by any standards, but at night she found it no more intimidating than the dusky, merciless streets of midnight Cairo. There seemed little to be on guard of here.

But letting her guard down, no matter how safe the situation seemed to be, was her biggest fault in a situation like this by far.

He forever managed to use this to his advantage much to his joy. With a furtive glance of a smile across his navy blue eyes he moved out from the soiled alleyway that was his observation spot and began to stalk silently and swiftly on carefully placed feet that no more than made the lightest of footsteps. He would be able to take full advantage of this set up and her lack of caution if he just worked carefully.

Idly she flicked her near to knee length silvery white hair behind her back and almost dared to let out a long, tired yawn, but checked herself seconds before she did. She was bored but not completely stupid as to show that her guard was down. Still she could not hide the vibes that she gave off.

Then the thin white hairs that ran down her mocha skin across her arms and neck rose to stand at their tallest, most proud height and she turned as quickly as they stood. But there was no one there. She had been so sure though… She turned back, unnerved now with her defences shot back up. If he wasn't there—

He came from nowhere, his full weight throwing itself on top of her, toppling her with ease to the harsh, dirty ground that lay below with a heavy thud. She kicked out, for all the good it did and struggled viciously under the heavy weight he pressed on her. He had her pinned firmly to the ground by her wrists as his knee lay on her chest. With that he called a victory for himself.

"Ha! Admit it 'Ro, you suck at this! That's five to me and one to you now."

"Three!" She struggled further but he only tightened his grip.

"One. Admit it Storm, you suck at this. Go on, say it."

"You suck, there!"

If there was one fault Logan held true then it was his constant unchecked habit of always underestimating the young girl that lay beneath him. With a well-placed knee she struck him in the one weak spot most all men possessed. On contact he immediately released his forceful grip and cringed into a ball of unbearable pain.

"Four!"

The darkness that drowned them finally rose to give way to striking white light and from above a weary, tense voice spoke down to them in a formal and somewhat irritated tone.

"Ororo, Logan, would you just for once please—"

He tackled her again from behind and she screamed in a pitch only reachable by sixteen-year-old girls as he began to tickle her stomach and legs. They ended up in a vicious fighting ball on the floor together each trying desperately to get the upper hand on the other.

The owner of the weary voice turned from the scene, rubbing the sides of his forehead slowly and sighing heavily as he faced his only guidance here, the only reason why he didn't completely lose his head with these two there and then.

"What'll we do with them Charles, really? That's almost every simulation ended up like—like this!" The tiresome teacher waved a frantic hand to highlight their wrestling bodies. "I mean there has to be a limit at one point."

The elderly man in the wheelchair that he had addressed shook his head and smiled, despite the fact that the two, especially at times like this, could be very testing of one man's patience.

"Ah Scott, were you never a teenager at one time in your life?"

The teacher frowned behind his ruby glasses, almost in annoyance. "Yeah, and I didn't act like that!" He waved yet another frantic hand as the two yelled bold, brash comments in each other's faces, continuing to maul each other as they did.

Again Charles smiled, if not with a little less spark in his pale blue eyes. "Okay then, if I must."

With reluctance written clearly on his face the mentor replaced his kindly tone with a more frontal and demanding one.

"Logan, Ororo, my office now."

Both dropped their actions immediately and shared a look. Neither teacher saw the smile.

----

There was nothing much that could describe the look on the two teacher's faces, save from weary and tense, almost appearing at a loss. In the end it was the elder man who spoke up first.

"What is it going to take to show you both the severity of the situation that you, as mutants, are in right now? Of the great number of students I have here in my home you two seem to be the only ones that are unable to grasp the concept that were are on the cusp of war here with—please stop that."

Both quickly refrained from poking each other in the sides. Charles took a deep sigh, collecting his patience, and tried again with a different approach.

"I know that when you walk out of this office your first actions will be to burst into sheds of laughter at what I had to say to you. Then you will more than likely begin to chase each other around the grounds for whatever reason. Then one of you will get hurt, and seeing as minor injuries do not generally effect you Mr Logan, it will be you Miss Munroe who will more than likely end up going to Dr Grey to get her to heal whatever Logan gives you in the way of cuts and bruises. As of from there you will both be sent to your rooms and Ororo, please correct me if I am wrong here, you will be the one to trespass into Logan's room and spend most of the rest of the night there, right? And, I will repeat, nothing that I can say will change that, will it?"

Both were silent, almost appearing shame faced and serious, almost. It was true, they were not the most easily ruled teenagers at the mansion, but in general it wasn't as if they were self-destructive or dangerous hooligans to others, themselves maybe but not to the rest of the student body or the mentors most of the time. They failed to see much fairness in Charles's, or most anyone else's, lack of tolerance with them.

"Do you have anything to say?"

Their eyes turned up to the other teacher, Mr Summers (Scooter to them), and shook their heads in silence. What they did have to say would land them weekend detention with McCoy. Charles finally nodded at their wordless response.

"Okay then, you can both go."

With more eager nods they obeyed and not five seconds after leaving the office burst into sheds of laughter.

----

Wherever they went looks were sure to follow. Whether it be in their own home at the mansion, or at the local high school, Bayville, that they were forced to attend daily, most people they walked by would chance a quick, curious look their way at their rather original appearances and boisterous behaviour when together. Most, but not all.

They were lucky if He chanced to go out of his room or wherever he sat alone at all let alone give them or anyone else direct eye contact. He was a loner by nature and a brooder and cynic of the world by practice.

Whether it had been through pure twisted fate or mocking luck, Charles had found and dared to take on Remy. No one, literally no one, had wanted him. People wanted content children of innocent eyes and mind. They didn't want a smart tongue or dark personality, an anti social bug of humanity. They wanted what was expected of young gentlemen, and Remy was not a young gentleman or what was expected. True he was not a bad person by any standards, more that he was just, awkward, for one of a better expression.

And after willingly taking on Ororo and Logan from the same adoption centre, amongst others of his students, Charles felt that this boy needed no more than what the others got, a little extra attention to his feelings as well as that old clique love.

But it hadn't quite worked. To this day the old man was still trying to get a full conversation out of the boy.

For most of his time Remy was quite content to be on his own, sitting atop the highest point on the mansion's roof with his cards for company, dealing and shuffling them with amazing speed and a trickster's hand. There he would also receive a good view of the milling crowds of mutated teenagers, playing and chatting together, socialising happily together. Occasionally there would be the chance to watch the odd voluntary P.E classes hosted by Mr McCoy and on rare few occasions he would catch Ororo striding about on her own. This sight was highly unusual though, even more so than to hear Remy himself speaking to someone.

He sighed deeply as he twirled an ace in between his nimble fingers both fed up and bored. If it was one of Remy's biggest problems then it was that his attention span was near to none existence. The grounds lacked much of its usual bustle today, although it was a Friday and most students sat dormant in their rooms, rushing to finish homework that they understandably had no want to do over the weekend. And even though sitting on the roof brought great serenity to his troubled mind, his soul remained restless and agitated.

At times like these he would tend to think to himself, delve deep into what was wrong with the world and cast a dark and critical eye on what problems he found. In his eyes, he was not what was wrong with society; society itself was what was wrong with the world.

He believed that conversation was not necessary, pleasantries were a waste of time, friends became let downs and love was untouchable less you wanted to get hurt in the end. The saying, 'no man is an island' was purely, in his cynical red eyes, just a prompt for unnecessary social behaviour between two people who would much rather be somewhere else talking about anything else than what was the topic of the dragged out conversation. These were the things that made him smile, made him arrogant in some mild ways and caused his nose to turn up at the bodies bellow.

Groups of people insisting on separating themselves from other for minor reasons such as music and looks, the way they talked and even what neighbourhood they came from. These were the things that made him shake his head.

His mind paused on thinking about the true individuals, how these were the people he solely respected, when she came out, and on her own. His eyes narrowed trying to get a better look but it was without a doubt her. The hair and the stance she carried, the marks of that true individuality he so longingly looked for in people, the thing that was so terribly rare. So why was it that when he found one of these exceptional souls, he could not bring himself to talk to her or even maybe smile or nod at her once in a while? It backed up what his last mentor had said.

"Truly a burden on any man mad enough to take him on, an anti social terrorist. If he were a dog they would have him put down by now."

Even the snooty accent still ran clear in his head, making him cringe every time he heard that line, the one honest thing that was ever spoken to him and he wasn't even supposed to have heard it.

His attention snapped back to her though as she strode about in the crisp autumn evening, walking along the outskirts of the curled, yellowed grass, occasionally stepping on a crimson leaf purposely to listen to the sharp crunching noises it made. He sat back on the roof, laying down the cards in between two old cracked tiles so he could watch her more closely.

He would have described the thumping in his heart a yearning, a strong and unfulfilled desire to be down there with her right now, maybe attempt some small talk or even just say if she was game for a quiet walk. He even seriously considered this, if only for a moment.

The fact that she was out alone though was too good to be true, he knew it had been and he watched Logan bound out after her with a none too surprised sinking heart. Immediately he gave chase as he was more often than not tempted to do and she ran off at an amazing speed, carried gracefully by her long muscular legs. They darted all over the grounds together, around the small patches of forest, trotting in the flowerbeds, in and out of small crowd of students, and at the edges of the swimming pool. Now Remy watched with interest.

One of them was going to go in, that much was obvious, but it was never easy to tell which one. Both had been in as many times as the other. It seemed today though that Logan had some unfinished business with Ororo, more than likely something that had been started in the Danger Room he guessed.

He had never been pushed enough to do one of those God-awful simulations and he had no intent what so ever to try one either, he planned not to get caught in those kinds of situations for real anyway.

He had been right though; Logan had an edge over Ororo today, a stronger determination to get her in that pool than she did to get him in. It took seconds for him to toss her balance off and eventually throw her in.

Remy cringed at the thought of how cold that water must have been in the middle of October and even from the far distance that he sat at he could see it in her face that it was not pleasant.

He envied them, so badly he wished he could be a part of their coupling but that was just it, they were a couple, a duo with no room for a middleman. So he kept himself an outcast and that avoided any hurt that could easily come from making friends. And he spent every waking minute that he had convincing himself of that.

----

_Well there it is, the basic set up for what I hope is a story you're gonna wanna see carried on. Please let me know what you think and I'll try get chapter two up a.s.a.p._


	2. The Cat And The Raven

Chapter Two 

Well I'm glad you all liked the last chapter enough to prompt me to continue this story.  Hope you keep enjoying and I'll leave you with chapter two.  A lot of questions asked will be answered either now or in later chapters, but I'm not much for giving away things myself.  So again, enjoy.

_~Telaka~_

**__**

**__**

Any perfectly sane person would more than likely, most probably in fact, have chosen with their entire God given free will _not_ to be in such a damned place.  As it was though (as sane as Logan and Ororo both claimed to be) they had no choice in the matter.

The classroom was hot, cramped, stuffy, dull and above all else holder of thirty listless students none of which who had any intentions what so ever of finding out about one hundred years of proud American history.  But still if the government insisted in this regime of torture for those so young then who were they to argue with the law?

Even so, very little could stop Logan from finding some other sort of entertainment except for the actual lesson at hand to relieve the numbing humidity that had settled itself in his mind.  The entertainment came namely in Ororo.  Below his nose rested his unopened, dog-eared notes jotter and with it an opportunity to torment.

For all her stubborn nature not to want to like this subject or to learn anything at all in school, Ororo couldn't help but find some interest at the highlighted President for this class, Abraham Lincoln.  The teacher forever droned on in a flat, lifeless, toneless voice but Ororo cared enough to take down some notes from time to time in her elegant, artistic scroll across her considerably neat jotter.

"Okay class, now it's on to page forty-eight of your textbooks…Mr Logan.  Might I ask?"

Ororo turned full circle from her spot at the front of the class to where Logan sat at the back in the corner busily tearing at the very tips of the corners of his jotter.

It had taken all but one class at the beginning of term to have the two separated as far apart as was possible and it was the same sad case in most of their classes together.  It did little to stop them from interacting with each other though for the hour or so that a class lasted.

When he dared to look up Logan's eyes were dark and deep in concentration.  Ororo knew the look.

"Yes miss?"

With a heavy sigh the teacher leant on her desk and placed on her face an arched eyebrow.  "Would you please refrain from destroying that jotter of yours and maybe, just maybe, could you start writing in it?"

A light snigger swept across the classroom and it took most of Logan's self-restraint to stop from growling, loudly.

"Yes miss."

"Thank you."

As quickly as she had throw on the slight edge of sarcasm in her tone the teacher managed to slipped back into her drone and Logan went back to his business, albeit a little more subtly.  He had now managed to collect enough from his jotter to go about his job of destruction with a smirk.

She didn't feel the first couple of paper spit balls; they comically bounced off her tight, head high ponytail that trapped her impossibly long gleaming hair and landed on the floor at her crossed feet.

Steadying his aim and taking more care he eyed up his opponent and fingered his weapon until he found the exact line-up.  This time he struck true and hit her shoulder square where she tensed when she felt impact.

Without turning (although Logan could practically feel her grin) she swept her hand under the desk, across the floor and found the three discharged pieces of soggy paper.  She teetered with them for a second, rolling them about the desk with her long purple nailed fingers and pondering over what to do with them.  Then picking up one with her thumb and forefinger she again smirked and turned, catching Logan's eye before she threw.  Propelled by less than gentle winds she managed to get him on the cheek and cause him to scowl.

Now she had laid down a challenge.

How the teacher didn't notice what was going on for the better part of ten minutes Remy would never know; he cared little to do so.  As he sat at the back of the class, near enough beside Logan to watch what he was doing, he found what little respect he had for the guy slipping away fast.  And although it would more than likely be regained through whatever means Remy would probably never grow to like Logan, in fact to be brutally honest he was quite spiteful towards the much bolder than him seventeen year old.  He wasn't quite sure why, he had just never liked him.  He also had no intent on getting to know him any more than he did so.

Logan's insufferable behaviour in class with Ororo did only carry on for the better part of ten minutes though before the dim teacher finally did take note.  With a sharp crack her book was thrown down hard on her orderly desk and all but Remy jumped and paled in fright.

"Mr Logan, Miss Munroe, outside now!"

As a wave of chatty, now more colourful students filed out of the classroom prison Logan and Ororo were called back in.  They passed Remy on the way out and could almost swear to it that he grinned, albeit very slightly.

Logan growled threateningly but Ororo checked him with a frown.

They continued to walk against the wave of students until they grudgingly made it back into the sweltering classroom where they dared to go no further than just inside the door.

There stood the teacher beside Ororo's desk, her feet placed in amongst the small pile of paper that had collected in their battle and her arms crossed angrily.  Her face was set in grim determination to see they would get what would be, in her eyes, a worthy punishment.

"Get in."

They reluctantly obeyed and came within a meter of the teacher's livid face, her narrow grey eyes scarred with none too subtly hatred towards the two.

"I have had enough!"

Her voice echoed clear through the near empty classroom and both cringed slightly as it rung hard in their ears.

"You both hold little stability in this school as it is, you're places are far from secure here.  I have, for so long now, argued against allowing mutants," she spat the word with poisoned malice, "in this fine school.  I even have countless parents backing me on this case, but will the Principle, listen?  No.  However that does not mean I will not be able to find some excuses to rid you of this place.  Is that clear?"

With glaring eyes they nodded slowly.  They sometimes wondered why they bothered going along with this.

"Now clean up the mess then leave."

She swept past them without waiting for a response and left behind her a cold chill in the atmosphere.  Her stiletto heals echoed loud and clear down the corridor and they waited silently until they faded away.  As she stood fuming, Ororo held a look deep in her eyes that held no hesitation to the idea of killing the snippy woman.

"Bitch!  Absolute Super-Bitch!  Why does Charlie insist in sending us to this God awful place?"

Logan, despite his usual lack of controlled temper, managed to stay the even headed one between the two with a calm tone of voice to answer his raging friend.

"'Cause of what she just said 'Ro.  No one else except this school's Head'll accept us.  Mutant's written all over our profiles, literally, so we don't even get a second glance anywhere else except here."

Ororo hoisted herself on top of her desk and swung her lengthy legs above the snowfall of paper.

"Still…  Remy doesn't even get it _this_ bad."

Logan grinned, his sharp, elongated canines poking the tops of his pale lips.  "Course he don't, you wouldn't even know he was here 'less you tripped up over him."

This brought Ororo to smile, if only a little.  "True.  Now, shall we?"

She slipped back off the desk and stood amongst their messy pile of trash with a similar pile lying in waste up at the back corner.  She never noticed the glint in Logan's eyes as she surveyed the disarray of scattered corner jotter remains.

"We still have unfinished business you know, Windrider."

She had only a second to react before he lunged and grabbed her around the waist, causing her to kick out in squirming fits of screams.

"Get off you maniac Wolverine thingy, get off!"

She managed to kick herself free and he instantly gave chase, sending her skidding across tables and chairs as she tried to get away from him with all the speed she could muster amongst the fit of laughter she erupted into.  Furniture toppled and posters tore as they charged through the room in full vengeance mode now.

As Ororo made one particularly dramatic leap across the teacher's desk, scattering pencils and paper everywhere, the door flew open, almost off its hinges, and in stepped the one Ororo had rightfully dubbed 'Super-Bitch'.

"You two, principles office, now!"

The clock would have told them it had only been half an hour that had passed but it was not the length of time either teen would have guessed.

Their hearts were sinking in shame and guilt as it gnawed relentlessly at their consciences.  A few bodies walked by on the odd occasion slowing slightly as they passed the Head's office in wicked curiosity.  Every time they did Ororo felt a great urge to lunge, her temper on its last frayed ends, but Logan would place a gentle hand on her knee and she would force herself to settle back down again.

There was one body that passed though that both almost lunged on.  A sickly sweet deep Southern accent drifted down from above their hung heads and managed to life both pairs of narrow blue eyes upwards.

"This is just too good!  Tell me y'all getting' expelled this time, go on, make ma day."

"Shut up skunk."

Ororo's voice was worryingly low in pitch as she spat at the girl but Logan's was no better in his own response.

"Go, before we both add to that God awful streak of yours."

The Southern grinned wider and her daring green eyes scanned over to where two sets of distant footsteps were slowly approaching.

"An' the Cajun's comin' down with ya.  For shame on ya both!"

Rogue could not conceal the glee upon her face now.  It was hardly any great secret that bad blood, dirtier than most flowing hatreds, was deep rendered between Ororo and Rogue which in turn led to Logan's own hatred of the belle.  One girl would often take the deepest digs she could to mortally wound the other and today Rogue seized all the chances that were running at her.

Both Logan and Ororo turned with her to watch their teacher guiding Remy down the long and dingy corridor directly towards where they sat outside the enclosed office.

"Sit Mr LeBeau.  And Miss Darkholme would you please get to your class before I happily make you join them."

Rogue scowled behind her thick fringe of white and brown hair then watched with admiring eyes as Remy came to sit.  It was as obvious as Ororo and Rogue's hatred towards each other that Rogue fancied the enigmatic young Cajun with a passion.  No one knew what Remy thought of this though.

The teacher left with satisfaction clearly written on her face and Rogue took off in the opposite direction towards the senior girl's toilets.

Ororo's eyes fell back down to her clasped hands but Logan kept his glare on Remy, questioning him with a brunt tone of voice.

"So why'd she send you down here too?"

Ororo looked up at Logan as if he was crazy to expect an answer but to both of their overwhelming surprises he got one.

"'Cause we all come from de same orphanage an' she don' wan' anyone dat comes from der comin' 'ere anymore.  Says it's trouble dat can be removed if de head just star' t'ink straight."

Ororo raised an eyebrow firstly because she had never heard Remy speak more than two strung together words at any one time and secondly because she had never noticed the accent.

"Where do you come from originally?"

Again, astonishingly, he answered.

"New Orleans."

Ororo nodded slowly then turned to Logan who gave her a funny look.  In turn she shrugged and went back to fiddling with her thumbs.

Still that half hour felt like an eternity.  But it did pass, eventually.

There was a soft click signalling the end of the Head's meeting with their mentor and firstly Charles then the principle, a Mr Robinson, spoke up on behalf of both men.

"Mr Logan, Miss Munroe."

Both stood up automatically, straight and rigid, their faces wiped of any smirks of daring impudence.

"Whether it be you luck or not, Mr Xavier here is a very convincing man.  Now I myself am a fair man but everyone has a limit to his or her patience in the end.  This _will_ be the last time I tolerate any of this boisterous, obnoxious, cheeky nature from either of you.  You are suspended for two weeks and after that if you mess up again you will be expelled."

Both nodded sombrely and sat back down on his word.

"And Mr LeBeau."

Remy didn't bother to stand, or raise his eyes, or show any acknowledgment to the fact of whether he was listening or not.  Still Mr Robinson carried on.

"I'm not actually sure what you've done if anything, save from having a great lack of co-operation and refusal to show off any social skills that you may posses somewhere under that fringe of brown.  For that I can give you no punishment, or warning, but," and he smiled slightly, sadly, "I do encourage you to express yourself a little more, please?"

Naturally there was no response, he might have well asked Storm to cut her hair off for all the co-operation he was looking for.  At least with her he would have gotten an outburst. 

            "Well you three all have the rest of the day off, unless you wish to stay for the remained of the time Mr LeBeau?"

Finally there was an answer, a short shake of the head.

            "Very well.  Charles, no doubt I will be seeing you again some time soon."

The old man extended his hand with a somewhat forceful smile and stiff nod.  "Good day Mr Robinson."

The shake was brief and on that the four mutants left.  But if Ororo and Logan were led to believe the lectures and punishments would stop there then they were sadly mistaken.

            The late summer rains were relentless in their warm wash of floods.  Sheets of street water poured into the sewers by the gallon and created puddles of runny mud wherever possible.  People rushed hastily from A to B as quickly as their routes would allow and some people even dared not to venture out at all.

Amongst the bustling crowds of soaked New Yorkers an old tomcat, as insignificant to the people as each individual drop of water was, dodged and skipped past a tide of legs and downpour.  Its mud soaked paws carried its thin and ragged body effortlessly through the masses until finally it found peace in a dry, abandoned alleyway, used only at night by the other half of the New York population.  

Here was where it sat on top of a rusted garbage can and dried and cleaned itself for a good long while.  Its yellow green eyes focused solely on the paws in front of it and the mud that is carefully peeled off with a rough pink tongue.

But despite its docile appearance its ears were perked high and its tail out stiff; it was anxious and waiting.

            As the hours passed by the cat grew weary along with the day and curled itself up into a tight ball of grey and black, its tail resting under its chin.  Still it seemed restless in some way; its saucer eyes never shut over and its fur rose and fell with ever noise made in the alley.

The numbers on the streets gradually died away with the daylight and soon the clouds passed over a moon instead of a sun.  Only the bright eyes of the tomcat were visible past the shadows that hugged it on its resting spot atop the soiled bin.  

And still its mind never slept, it never dared to, not even for a second, for as soon as it did… 

            The air around began to tingle.  The sensitive tuft ears of the cat's stood forward and its scruffy body came to stand with its back arched and its claws out.  But it didn't hiss or spit, silence reined in its throat. 

A ripple passed through the air surrounding it and an impulse of energy moved through ever inch of the alleyway, shaking the ground and unsettling the bins.  A nearby streetlight flickered on and off, sparking slightly as it did.

The cat leapt off the bin now and stood at the very edge of a deep puddle, staring down into the rippling reflection of itself.

And above its head materialized a mass of dark, overcast being, a man that seemed just to stand on the very air around him.  His arms were crossed and his face shadowed by a helmet; a cape of deep maroon rippled out from behind him, fluttering gentle in an invisible wind.

Seconds later his reflection was joined by that of a woman's, one clad in the purest of white with the darkest of blue, flawless skin.  Her yellow catlike eyes shimmered in the moonlight and narrowed in a dangerous smile.

            "We really should stop meeting like this Eric."

The man descended from the sky and his feet touched on the ground at the other side of the dirty puddle.  His smile remained hidden in his helmet.

            "We should.  Now down to business."

His arms unfolded and he extended one hand from which a CD floated out and was passed to the shape-shifting woman.

            "These are the files you requested.  It had everything on it that you will need so there will be no excuses this time.  Capture only two of them, whomever you choose from the files, I'm not fussy.  Just make sure it's two from off the CD.  Understood?"

The woman nodded silently, her eyes fixed on the small reflective CD where her orbs shone back at her and the tiny black pupils that rested in the middle of them diluted to almost nothing.

The man had one last passing comment to make before he gathered himself to leave this disgusting meeting spot.

            "Say hello to the children for me, will you Raven?"

He never caught the flow of curses that followed his smirk or the deadly fleeting glance across the eerie woman's face.  Instead he lifted himself back off the filthy ground without giving her another glance and she turned back into the sodden streets of New York on four paws, a CD clenched tight in her tiny jaw.


	3. Beauty and the Cajun

Chapter 3 

Okay not much to say, really just one thing.  GiveGodtheglory, I know where you're coming from with the 'mug, 'profile' thing, but when he says profile he doesn't mean as in their looks, he literally means their personal profiles with the information the school has about them on it, this including the fact that they're mutants on it.  Okay?  Hope so.  Anyway, I'll leave y'all now to read, enjoy.

~Telaka~

            Storm was never one who co-operated well with being grounded.  Despite all the guilt and shame she felt for almost being expelled from school it didn't stop the fit of angry protestant rants or the spell of bad weather that obediently followed her mood.

For the time being she paced back and forth across her room, her cold arms wrapped tightly around her torso as she watched and waited restlessly for the clock to turn ten, even though it was only nine.  She dutifully ignored the frustrated frowns of her studying roommate, Kitty, and even the small coughs she uttered as way of subtly hinting for her to stop making a general nuisance of herself.

It wasn't until half nine before she finally did sit at peace, grabbing a CD and placed it in the played on her bedside at near to full volume.  Closing her blue eyes, now with a film of wispy white hanging over them, she began to will away the time with the music, relaxing a little and easing her tense grip on the weather outside.

Then the music was switched off.

            "Hey!"  She sat bolt upright and made unflinching, hateful eye contact with Kitty who stood above her CD player, arms crossed and eyes narrow.  "What you do that for?"

One looked as spiteful as the other as they duelled with their looks.

            "I've got a biology test tomorrow, I'm trying to study for it, okay?"

Storm frowned, the air around her almost seeming to sparkle and crack with the tension she generated.  But she didn't retaliate, much as she would have loved to.  Instead she grabbed her black leather duster coat from off the floor and none too quietly exited the room.

            "Hey, you're grounded!"

With a wave of her hand she called upon a strong icy breeze and slammed shut the door behind her, leaving at that with Kitty.

            It was rounding up to quarter to ten; the school's curfew had finally kicked in and, even though she had wanted to wait till ten, now was her chance to break the confinements of her room and grab a little freedom.

She strode down the deserted hallway, her long graceful steps making near to no noise that would betray her presence and carrying her quickly.  Her cold hands dug deep in the soft lined pockets of her jacket that swept behind her like a cape.  So many times Logan had teased her about it but she just threw comments back about his rather fetching jeans collection.

            The mumbled chatter and laughter of the students could be heard faintly from behind the rows of closed doors, they wouldn't hear her even if she were to tread nosily. 

But the teachers would so she kept herself as near to silent as was possible.

With a sudden stop she came to stand in front of Logan's bedroom door, one of the rare few dormitories that housed only one student.  She wrapped her hand around the handle tightly, then, hesitated, because only a little further up the darkened hallway was the small staircase that led up to the attic.

For years she had been begging the Professor for that room, the one place in the world she loved more than anywhere else, except Africa.  She had pleaded and preyed for it, bargained and offered so much but every time she asked she was refused.

His favourite answer to back the denial was, "I can't just give _you_ the attic as a bedroom and not to say Jubilee or Kitty if they asked.  It wouldn't be fair, would it?"  

Her whole life had revolved around unfair; why she could not just be given a little fairness for once she didn't know.  But still, it didn't stop her from actually going up there in the first place just to spend some quiet, tranquil time there.  That he could not deny her.

            Her poised hand that remained lingering on the handle of her friend's door slowly unwrapped itself from its grip and came to rest back at her side.  Her heals pivoted and she carried on her silent way towards the attic now to seek a little refuge there instead.

The old wooden steps moaned quietly under her weight and the cold downdraught of wind that seeped through the door at the top whistled past ears but the noises brought none to investigate.  She paused in front of the grand oak door, sneaking a look over her shoulder just to make sure, but she truly was alone on the first floor of the mansion.

With her hand gripped firmly around the cool brass handle she turned her wrist once and watched the door swing smoothly open on its hinges.

            The sight that greeted her as always was breathtaking. 

Moonlight burst into the room though the white framed glass roof spreading its crystal wash over every wall and corner of the vast and long room.  In the light breeze that skipped around the space plants and flowers of every species, shape colour and size imaginable swayed back and forth slowly, dancing the dance of the night in the enigmatic moon cast light.  The stars shone through just as bright and through the glass cast a roof of white dotted navy blue.

            Slowly she shut the door behind her and stepped into the room, smiling contently to herself as she did and breathing deeply into her chest.

Here she could be at peace, her restless soul settled amongst the original beauty that nature first cast for herself to live in.  No lectures, no teachers, no authority, no rules or restrictions.  Nature knew none of these.  The plants would listen and there would be none who answered back, no right or wrong for what she was saying with morality tales thrown in at every chance seized.

Here was home and Charles would no let her have it.

Here was home and tonight she was not alone.

It took her a few minutes to notice the open skylight that allowed a flood of bitter night air to rush in and ruffle the loose stands of hair that had escaped her messy ponytail.  She frowned when she caught sight of it and eyed it suspiciously.  To the best of her knowledge almost no one came up here, especially at night.  It was Dr Grey's job to tend to the plants but she did that in the evenings, plus there were no plants on the roof.

She tilted her head more in curiosity now and began to step forward walking carefully between the sea of pots and beds.  If there was one thing those God-awful Danger Room runs had taught her, it was how to tread skilfully at night.

The cold night air continued to sweep in through the opening, skidding past her face and making her eyes water at the edges.  She wrapped her jacket tighter around her slim body.  How could anyone handle such a bitter cold at such an hour outside?

The answer came in the form of the nine of diamonds as it floated down through the wide-open skylight and landed at her feet.  She stared at it with confused blinking eyes for a second then bent down and picked it up.  Scrawled in one corner was a tiny, blotchy red 'R' and in the opposite corner in back was a 'G'.

            "Bonjour."

Ororo started, dropping the card and catching her breath in her throat, only just managing not to swear a flow or curses.  It was Remy.

His shadow cast face peered in through the opening, his body skilfully balanced on the sloping glass roof.  His eyes were barely visible, only a tiny red glint in amongst a pit of black shadows.  But Storm could see they were cast down and shifted about uncomfortably in her presence.  Even the way he had said 'bonjour' hinted great unease and shyness in the boy.  Storm felt no better. 

            "I—I'm sorry if I'm intruding.  I didn't know…I mean if I knew you were up here…no I mean…  Here's you're card back."

With a sheepish grin she picked the nine of diamonds back up and past it to Remy's outstretched gloved hand.

            "T'anks."

            "S'okay."  She paused for a second then tilted her head, a curious gleam running across her eyes.  "What do the letters stand for?"

He looked a little surprised, as if wondering why she still wanted to talk to him.  His fawn, suede clad fingers passed over the surface of the card before he stuffed in back into his black duster coat, one much like Storm's own.

            "Em, well de 'R' stands fo' Remy."

            "And the 'G'?"

He hesitated in an answer then sighed.  "You wanna come up?"

It was her turn to look visibly surprised.  "Up there, on the roof?"

He nodded.

            "What if I fall?"

            "You won', ah won' let you.  'Less you don' wanna…"

            "No, no I do want to, looks like…fun."

Ororo could have sworn he smiled but it was too brief to catch for definite.

He dropped a hand for her to grab onto but she shook her head and smiled herself.  "It's okay, I can fly."

Under the shadows he lifted an eyebrow, something she could see.

            It took some degree of control and concentration to kick up a wind strong enough to carry her full weight, but at the same time one that was tame enough so she wouldn't send Remy flying past the Professor's office window at this fine hour.  She did it though, just.  

Remy grabbed her as she dropped the wind only a second too soon and dragged her onto the roof before she could go crashing back down into the attic.  He watched her worriedly as she knelt over herself, catching her breath that was laboured and heavy.

            "Y'okay chere?"

He didn't get an answer for a second then, to his relived surprise, she began to laugh.  He sat back again and she tossed her thick white ponytail away from her face.

            "I'm fine, just need a little more practice is all."

He nodded then got up and began to walk along the glass part of the roof, over to the tiles.  She watched him for a second as he balanced himself with the greatest of ease and no visible fear.

When she didn't follow he turned and beckoned her to come with him.  She managed to brave one look down at the silhouetted ground below and shook her head with a wiry grin.

            "You are kidding?  No way!  Look at the height we're at!"

He simply shrugged.  "So?  You can fly, non?"

            "Yeah, but not very well."

            "Bet you could if you fell."

Both paused, locked in unflinching eye contact just as he said it, then smiled and shook their heads.

He beckoned again.  "C'mon, ah won' let you fall, on a t'ief's promise."

"A thief?"

            "Best promise der is chere."

She teetered for a second on the decision then imagined with a cringe what Logan would say to her cowardliness.  "Okay, on a thief's promise it is then."

With not a second more hesitation she forced her tense body up and slowly and painfully forward.  He waited for her patiently on the line where glass met slate then walked with her as she came to his side.

For any unfortunate passer-by's it would have been the most bizarre of sights.  If any teachers happened to be passing by, well the orphanage looked like a most plausible end to their stay here at Xavier's mansion, or at least for Ororo it did.  

            "So…what _does_ the 'G' stand for?"

They stopped in their travels along the grimy grey tiles and Remy sat on the jut above the triple garage.  Ororo followed suit to his actions.

            "Huh?"

            "The 'G', in the card you dropped.  You said the 'R' stood for Remy, so what does the 'G' mean?"

He hesitated for a second, his face was now clearer in the moonlight and she could see the uncertainty in his devil red eyes.

            "It—it stands fo' Gambit."

 She raised her snowy white brows a little.  "Gambit?"

Now he looked very slightly abashed, reddened lightly across the cheeks.  "Yeah, it what dey called me back in New Orleans, Gambit.  Suited me more'n Remy anyway."  

            "They?"

Remy didn't answer this one.

            "So what be bringin' you out 'ere?  Thought you were grounded."

Storm scoffed.  "Did you think that was gonna stop me?  Seems you obviously don't know me too well Gambit."

He paused for a second then lowered his voice to a shy mumble.  "Ah don'."

She fell silent and her brilliant blue eyes dropped away from his face down to her knees that rested at her chest.

            "Ah mean, you an' Logan, you pretty close, ah'm jus' de strange loner on de roof of de mansion.  But ah don' mind or anythin', much…"

Storm bit her lower lip and tried to conceal the blush of red that crept across her own dark cheeks now.

            "Why don't you talk to anyone Remy?  You know the world's not gonna bite, well not all of it."  She thought for a second.  "Em, who's your roommate?"

            "Bobby."

            "So why don't you get talking with Bobby, he seems like a nice guy?"

            "Bobby's terrified o' me, won' say a single thing even if ah tried to talk to 'im."

Storm bit harder.  Then it occurred to her—

            "You're talking to me right now and you seem fine with it."

To this Remy shrugged.  "Jus' suppose you aint easy scared then."

With a small, creeping smile she began to wonder why she hadn't talked to Remy before, or at least taken the time to try.  Logan had never particularly liked him, but when did she ever listen to him?

            Slowly black misty clouds began to pass over the enigmatic glow of the hauntingly beautiful moonlight, gradually blocking out the shimmer of silver and casting the two in silkier black shadows.  And during all this they never noticed because for the first time in their lives together at the mansion they talked, and laughed, shared stories and grew to enjoy the company they basked in together.

As the night drew in Remy began to sound and look gradually more relaxed, like the seventeen year old he was and not some forty-year-old cynic of everything around him and Ororo grew more and more fond of him for it.  Tension and unease lifted, any awkwardness that had lingered passed and as the sun began to ascend, taking the moon's place in the sky both found themselves disappointed that they had to drag their stiffened bodies back into the stuffy mansion.

            As they stood at the base of the rickety old staircase that brought them back down from the attic they found their parting strangely difficult, reluctant almost, considering they lived under the same roof and beyond that only a few bedrooms down from each other.

            "Well, guess I'll be seeing you around?"

            "Yeah, guess." 

            "Bye then."

 Finally they split, Remy carefully opening the door to his room, making no more noise than a gentle click as he turned the handle and Ororo sneaking back down the corridor to her own warm bedroom.

            All the time they were being watched.

At the very bottom of the corridor, further down than either teen bothered to check for life, a pair of kindly old blue eyes watched them closely, the face they nestled in creasing into an overwhelming amount of unspoken joy and pride.  It seemed, finally, Remy had made a friend.

            Detention with Logan and Ororo was _never_ a voluntary task.  Of the four teachers in the mansion not one would honourably put up a hand and offer to spare the other three the challenging, and more often than not temper rising, chore.  So Charles was forced to draw up a timetable and for the first of a fourteen-day punishment program, weekends included, Henry became their mentor and ruler.  Henry was usually the one teacher that neither Ororo nor Logan dared to mess around with.

            Six o'clock in the morning rolled around and through it the mansion lay in a state of blissful sleep.  Students buried deep into their warm, cosy beds, hugging their soft pillows tight and wallowing in comforting darkness, their eyes closed over to welcome fanciful dreams.

            All but two.

An hour before they were usually due to rise both the condemned mutants could be found out of bed and staring crusty eyed at Henry who stood tall above them, arms crossed, inside the mansion's hanger.

The infamous Blackbird rested behind him, sleeping in parallel with the students.  Yesterday it had been out in Canada, both Scott and Jean taking it with them on a hushed up mission that not one of the students knew the full and true story about.

In Canada it had been raining.  The Blackbird had landed in a swelling bog of mud and general filth.  And so Logan and Ororo's job for the day had been created.

            "Okay you two.  I think the buckets and Blackbird speak for themselves; to work."

It was a shame the duo, as well as most of the student body, felt so much spite towards McCoy, he really was a nice guy.

On that word he left, only to return for half hourly checks.

Rolling up his sleeve and snatching an old greasy rag Logan grudgingly plunged into a bucket of soapy, lukewarm water with it and began to work on the belly of the ship.  Ororo watched him for a second with distaste to the task he operated them grabbed a bucket and cloth for herself and climbed up the ladder that gave her access to clean the roof of the plane. 

For a good while they worked silently, the sloshing of water and squeak of cloth and metal rubbing together being the only noises that sliced through the resentful mood that hug in the hanger.  Then Logan coughed and cleared his throat as he craned his neck back to catch sight of Ororo who took to actually standing on the roof and cleaning.

            "So, where were ya last night 'Ro?  Thought you'd be comin' round my way."

She didn't answer immediately, instead pretending to be engrossed in her work.  It was only when he coughed again that she finally looked up, loose strands of white hair falling over her misty blue eyes.

            "What?"

            "Ah said, where were ya last night?"

She looked at him blankly for a few seconds and blinked.  "In my room, studying."

He almost laughed as he dropped the cloth and leant his left arm on the body of the ship.  "Tell me another.  Ah could smell ye goin' by, you were right outside my bedroom door ready to come in an' then ye left.  Plus, you wouldn't be studying.  Did Scooter catch you?" 

She went back to work, mumbling an answer that he only just caught with his sensitive ears.  

"Went up to the attic."

He raised a bushy brown eyebrow and smiled a teasing smile.  "Again?  Thought you were banned from goin' up there?"

She straightened her arched back and frowned.  "No.  I'm just not allowed it as my own bedroom.  And even if I was banned, see if that would stop me."

Instantly his tone sharpened as he remembered something, another scent he had caught in the corridor outside his door that night.  "The Cajun was up there, wasn't he?"

Storm's frown grew darker, angrier.  "What's your problem with that?"

            "The guy's a jerk 'Ro!  Only cares about himself and his stupid cards, ignores everyone point blank an' says nothin'.  You wouldn't seriously want to spend a night with him, sittin' in silence and swallowin' down yer throat awkwardly.  Why didn't ye just come round to ma room?"

With more vigour in her scrubbing Ororo went back to work.  "He's not all that bad really.  He's just a bit…shy.  Anyway, I don't have to come round to your room every night I feel like a wonder, do I?  You know you can be such a jerk yourself sometimes!"

She regretted it the second she shouted it but didn't stop in her work to apologise. 

He stared for a second then silently went back to work again with her.

            Half an hour passed and Henry came back dutiful for a check, half expecting the entire hanger to be soaked through and through, his two prisoners standing sheepishly in the middle of the flood.  But to his quiet and pleasant surprise it wasn't.  Instead they worked in silence, already half way through their chore. 

            "And after that there's a good number of cars in the garage needing a once over, inside and out."

Their only acknowledgment to his order was a small nod and quiet mutter. 

With a shrug he left.

A few hours later 

            "You know what I said earlier—" 

            "I'm sorry."

            "But I can be—"

            "I didn't mean that."

            "'Ro, would you just let me speak!  I'm not your big brother; it's not up to me who you talk to and who you don't, who you want to be friends with.  If I do that then I become Chuck.  I just don't, you know…"

Ororo dropped her sponge, abandoning the white striped red sports car she was carefully cleaning (carefully because it was Scott's prised position and he would hold no hesitation in harming her if she so much as dared to scratch it), and walking over to Logan who scrubbed the mansion's black people carrier.  With a small smile she touched on his filthy cheek with her soapy hands and shook her head.

            "You really are a jerk sometimes, but I still love you for it 'cause you make such a fool of yourself trying to apologise.  Me, I usually just say sorry.  So, sorry."

He smiled back, and then grinned almost, a gesture in the corner of his mouth most wouldn't notice.  Ororo did.

            "Oh, oh don't you dare, don't you—Logan!"

She screamed and jumped as he dove for the nearest bucket of ice-cold water and with one swift throw poured the contents over her head.  Her cried were ear piercing, but worth it.

            "You _are_ a jerk!  And a stupid one at that, you forget why they call me Storm!"

The smirk was gone.  "Oh crap."

            "Oh crap it is."

A crack of thunder hailed the skies and from the tips of Storm's fingers a pour of ice-cold rain, more chilling that what Logan had throw, drowned him, drenching his through to the bare bone.

            And hence why not one of the four teachers would ever honourably volunteer to take on the task of detention with Ororo and Logan into their hands.

            The cold that reined through the battered old house that sat outside a forest that sat out of the way of any busy street or road was a very different one from what Ororo and Logan inflicted on each other in their rough play.  Instead a sense of misery rang clear with the breezes that ached through the walls and windows, desperation and haunting realities that the three occupants were forced to live in every day lingering forever under the roof of the home.  They kept that cold hidden from the general outside world, but in here, in the household of the Darkholme's, there was nowhere to hide from it.

The sun outside was glorious, beautiful, warming to the touch, but as soon as the front door was shut over Rogue blocked all of that out.

Moodily she threw her bag to the ground, allowing it to skid into a filthy corner to rest, and kept on walking forward.  There were only three doors she had to choose from on the ground floor, Rogue chose to enter the one on the left.

A small pale glare from a long outdated computer was the only thing on offer to pass light through the darkness in the small cramped room she walked into now.

"Hi sweetheart.  How was school?"

Rogue allowed a small smile to play across her black lined lips.  "Don't call me that, please.  School sucked, so what's new with you?"

The young teen wrapped her arms around her mother's neck but was carefully not to come near her with her bare skinned face.  Raven touched on her lightly with one navy blue hand then brought it back down on the rustic keys of the old computer's board.

            "How about I show you what's new?  I promise you, you'll like this."

On command she brought up the faces of about ten teenagers, all around Rogue's age, for her to see.  She watched them appear with an excited gleam in her dulled green eyes.

            "They're all—"

            "Xavier's students.  Help me pick two to capture for the job."

Rogue's eyes truly lit up now as she caught sight of one face in particular.

            "Her, that one.  She's a real bitch in school."

Raven considered the pretty dark face lined with silky white hair and in possession of shocking blue eyes for a second.  Then she turned to her daughter with a proud smile and nodded.

            "Her it is then.  I need a male now, just to keep things even."

Rogue paused; her eyes scanning the screen then locked them onto the second face that caught her attention.

            "Him."

She pointed at a pair of devil red eyes and again her mother nodded.  "And him it is."

Rogue watched her mother's fingers pass over the keys with amazing speed, thoroughly impressed.  If it weren't for the fact that 'Mutant DNA detected' was literally written all over her personal profile she may have been able to hold down a decent job with computers.  As it was though she was forced to work with the likes of Him, the man they hated more than any other in the world.  Inwardly she scowled.

            "Go see your brother Rogue."

She snapped out of her trail of thought and nodded.  "How is he?"

            "Same as always."

 A twang of pain and regret was injected into the last statement but Rogue only nodded once again.

She left her mum with her work alone again and stepped back into the darkness of the hallway.  On passing the stairs she grabbed her bag and tiresomely trudged up the stairs with it.

She could hear his moans and yelps even before she reached the top of the grimier still landing.  They made her sigh in pity.  Long before they used to make her cry but after years of the same behaviour, cries and please that no one could ever make any sense of, she had grown a hardened shell to it.  The sight was however no less painful at times.

            "Hey big bro', you sista's home, come give her a big hug, eh?"

As she swung the door open and a musky breeze passed over her pale face, sweeping back her ice white streaks the moans and mutters that had seeped through the walls halted and with them a pacing shadow stopped in its tracks.

A hunched back slowly straightened and a black head rose, turning to face the girl in his doorway.  In the lapping shadows a pair of piercing yellow eyes locked onto Rogue's apprehensive green ones and for a second neither person moved, only stared.

Then with a bound and a leap the shadow flew across the room and seized Rogue in a loving bear hug. 

            "Rogue!  Rogue, c-come see, see what I-I did today, come see!"

She let go a quick sigh of relief and with a wide smile allowed him to take her by the gloved hand across the small, murky room. 

            "Hey slow down ya big dafty!  Okay, okay, what is it?"

In the back corner of his bedroom trapped under an upside-down jam jar scuttled a franticly circling insect.

            "Aw, you caught a…em, cockroach."

His eyes lit up with the excitement of a six-year-old at the fair with a mouth full of cotton candy.  "Ja!  His-his name is Roachy!  Do you like, do you like him Rogue?  He's my new fr-friend."

She teased him with a mock frown.  "An' what about me?  Yo' one an' only lil' sista who loves ya more than anyone else in the whole wide—"

            "Universe!  Ja, you my special friend but."

She ruffled his head of silky blue-black hair and touched on his rich royal blue cheek lightly with her velvet green gloves.  "'Atta boy."

Her smile was sad, it always was with him, but he rarely noticed it.  

Years ago she had vouched on an act of murder, of revenge on Him for ever doing this to her only beloved brother.  So far the only thing that had stopped her from trying was the concern of her mother, but she still held the personal promise true to heart and the will to do it only strengthened with every day that went by like this.

            He continued to bounce around the room more like that excited six-year-old than the sixteen year old he was, telling her eagerly about his day's adventures in the house.  Most were made up but the tales he wove made him happy and she was all too pleased to hear them in turn for that happiness.  Days like these, good days when he wasn't fitting with frustration and lashing out at the objects around him, were far and few between and so in Rogue's view, they deserved her full attention. 

But always at the back of her mind lingered His face and His foolishness and her lust for revenge on her dear, beloved brother Kurt.  

They say revenge is sweet, a saying Rogue held just as close to her heart as the wish to commit the act was.


	4. Action

Chapter Four

**__**

            The professor, especially with students that he had actually 'rescued' himself (in a sense) tended to be, as Hank quite plainly put it, 'soft and weak'.  Xavier was almost sure they both meant the same thing.

It was through this proclaimed 'soft and weak' heart of his that Ororo and Logan had, after one week of detention, been given Friday night out of their rooms and the mansion to allow them some fresh air and restricted freedom.  They were very much like border collies, locked up for days indoors and then given a long leash to wreck havoc in the gardens on.  Certainly they were very unlike 'mature teenagers' (if such a thing existed).

            What had started as an innocent walk around the grounds turned out to be a vicious game of hide-and-seek.  Only not in the child's sense of the game. 

            "Oh 'Ro.  C'mon girl, there's no point in hidin'.  Ah'm gonna find you anyway."

She couldn't help but very nearly laugh as he passed underneath the very tree she took refuge in.  The frosty night air swept past her shimmering head of hair but she kept it down wind of Logan, diverting his sense of smell away from her sweet scent.  Her tactics proved effective.  She shook her head pityingly as he began to disappear back into the thick shadowed shrubbery.  

            With her Remy shook his own head from his position on the mansion's back porch, his messy brown fringe overlapping his devil red eyes.  He would by lying to say he didn't find the two funny, and there were rare few things that brought him to smile visibly.  He almost felt inclined to sit outside and watch them most all night, at least for as long as their games lasted, but he was tired, and lacked that amount of patience. 

            Logan stumbled out of the bushes and began to trace the edges of the high, spiked mansion gates in the small hope that Ororo had chosen a hiding spot just outside the mansion grounds. 

To the best of Remy's knowledge, Ororo was sixteen, Logan just barely seventeen, but watching them 'play' he began to doubt his given data.

            With a heavy sigh and a small passing grin he finally got up and went to turn in when something caught his eye.  It was no more than a fleeting shadow, a smudge of grey moving about in a canvas of black.  It could have been another student, or even a stray cat, but Remy rarely turned against his instincts, and they screamed out to him about now.

Slowly he stepped back down from the porch and cast his wary gaze over to the back gate where he sworn by it that he had seen that smudge of grey.  Logan was gone, probably back into the shrubbery.  Again Remy moved forward.

And he was proven right when he saw something dart behind a cluster of holly bushes, near the high-rise fence.  He walked faster now, tentatively at first but when he heard the soft rustling behind the sharp leaves he almost took off at a run.

He dove around the bush, grabbed a playing card from his jean pocket and clamped his left hand down tightly on a grey shoulder.

            "Argh!"

Remy jumped back, more than startled and with him Bobby fell down onto the dew-drenched grass at his feet with a heavy _thud_.

            "What the hell you doin' man?!"

Remy blinked a couple of times then mumbled a hasty 'sorry' as he extended his hand out for Bobby to take.  Scowling the young teen brushed it aside and pulled himself up.  His ice blue eyes locked onto Remy's heated red ones and glowered for a second.

            "Well?"

The Cajun shrugged.  "Thought you 'ere a' intruder is all."

Bobby sighed, shook his head and turned back to where the small patch of forestry lay in amongst the shrubbery.

            "Wot you doin' den?"  Remy had decided to follow Storm's advice, of socialising.   He saw it doing no good though.

For a second Bobby hesitated then grinned ever so slightly.  "Waiting."

Remy frowned.  "Fo' what?"

            "For those two to get past the flirty stage and kiss already!  Jeez, how long you been locking yourself up in that grumpy mind of yours.  If you haven't noticed _those_ _two_, then what do you know?"

Remy had to remind himself that Bobby was only thirteen and he was allowed to sound that immature.

            "Ah don' t'ink dey gonna be kissin' tonight mon ami."

            "No, we aint."

Both started as they spun on their heals and again Remy had a card ready in his hand, poised with small sparks of crimson erupting at the edges.

A gentle snapping of, something, filled the night air and both Remy and Logan turned to watch Bobby's right arm slowly but surely turn into solid white ice.  He simply shrugged sheepishly.

            "My answer to wetting my pants."

Logan growled deeply, a warning issued from the back of his throat as he turned back to Remy.

            "Mind if you stop yer spyin' an' start scrammin'?"

            "Ac'ually, it was him der—"

Logan's growl was emphasised with the flash of subdued anger in his narrowed eyes. 

            "Dat started it."

Bobby tensed and gingerly lifted his blue gaze upwards but Logan wasn't looking or growling at either spy now.  His navy blue eyes, eyes clad in shadow, began to scan above the two's heads and they with him turned and gazed into the cold darkness of the evening.

            "Wait here."

He brushed passed Remy as he disappeared back into the bitter night and left the two standing stumped. 

            "Think he finally found her?"

Remy didn't bother to answer.

            "'Ro?  Ororo get out from where yer hidin', we got company."  There was a long and painful silence.  "'Ro?" 

            "Logan!  Behind you!"

She was above him and the company was behind.  He pivoted on his heals amidst a rip roar snarl from his throat and in a small shower of blood three rough cut bone claws sprang from his left clenched fist.  They simply brushed past empty air.

He growled again and looked up.  Ororo perched expertly in an ancient oak tree, her clear blue eyes scanning frantically around her for any sign of the bodiless intruder.  Logan sniffed with his nose as she searched with her eyes.  Again that foreign scent, a musky, damp smell that he had picked up when with Remy and Bobby filtered into his flared nostrils.  They twitched in irritation.  The dark hairs that ran along the nape of his neck stood stiffly and his skin crawled as a harsh breeze passed by.

An almost silent whisper came floating down from the trees.

            "Logan, who—"

A soft swishing noise sped through the branches and a rustle of leaves followed as Ororo teetered on the thick branch then toppled and fell.

In one tremendous leap Logan caught her and dropped to his knees as the full brunt of her falling weight fell into his arms.

            "Ororo!  'Ro, darlin', you alright?  C'mon girl, say something!"

Her head rolled onto his chest and he caught sight of the silver feathered dart that produced from the side of her smooth, dark neck.  He swore angrily and tore it out before getting up with her held tightly in his protective grip.

            "Who's out there?!  C'mon, you got one of us, how 'bout you tackle the real competition now!  Go on, show your damn self!"

Silence.

            Beyond the foliage and tree trunks on the other side of the grounds Logan caught sight of the double doors opening and spotted with relief Scott emerging from them.  He was clad in full fighting gear.

He also watched Bobby sprint over the lawns waving frantically to the teacher.  Scott ushered him in the second his feet hit the porch.  That just left Remy…

            "She alright mon ami?"

Logan didn't answer the question, or jump.  "Take her, run back to the mansion and get Scott over here."

Without a word of protest Remy took Ororo's limp body from Logan and began to run on his orders.  He didn't get very far.

"Scott, what's going on?"

Briefly the mentor turned his shaded eyes back to his fiancé who edged out onto the porch, decked in her own battling attire.  Both were fresh from the danger room, with their reflexes still tense and their minds still on full alert. 

"I… don't know."

In shades of red and black he scanned the vast mansion grounds, his lids narrowing behind the visor.  Jean was at his side in a second, her own intense green eyes piercing through the darkness.

            "Scott, look."

She gripped his shoulder as two shadows that merged to make one bulky figure jogged towards them.

            "Ororo!"

She left his side and advanced on Remy as he rushed up to them, the slight edge of worry creeping around his eyes.

That look of worry disappeared from Jean's sight in a wave of cloudy blue smoke and a wash of brimstone scent and between the two couples what could only be described as a demon appeared, his pale yellow eyes crazed and his grin wicked and fanged.

            "Mien."

A fork tipped tail of almost black blue lashed out at Remy's face, striking out across his eyes and blinding him amidst a spray of blood and furious pain.  He leapt back and through the distraction the 'demon' lunged, his two fingered hands grabbing Ororo and his crouched body disappearing in another flash of smoke with her in tow.

            "No!"

Remy whipped feverishly at his blood drowned eyes and grabbed at thin air, nothing in front of him now save a thinning cloud of smoke and Jean.

            "Where is she?!"

Scott dashed past him, taking off at a sprint towards the forestry near the gates without another word.

            "There's two of them."

Remy turned back to face Jean, the gash that ran across his brow trickling a steady stream of thick red.  Her index finger of the right hand was raised to her temple, her bright green eyes closed over.

            "What?"

            "Two, two strangers' presences.  One keeps moving, the other—"

She spun on her heals and her arm shot out with outstretched fingers.  Another blue-bodied figure flew free from a nearby marble fountain.

            "Right there."

Remy turned and looked down with Jean on a sprawling, unsettlingly grinning female, decked with a small pistol and as crazed a look in her own pale yellow eyes as the teleporting demons.

            "Time for the Darkholmes to take what's there's and leave, eh Grey?"

The weapon was raised and aimed but in a flare of angry crimson fire Remy stopped her, pointing a glowing card in her direction as his eyes narrowed to shadowed slits.

            "Where's Ororo?"

His answer was a simple smirk before she called out to the skies above in a mad whooping cry.  

            "Take who you can my boy, our job here is done!"

There was another burst of smoke, one as sudden to appear as the flames of crimson and Remy was blinded again.  He threw the card, it darted through the smoke, the ground shook at his feet as it made contact with the grass and then slowly everything cleared away and the end result was revealed.

            Remy was on his knees, the blood pouring down thick and steady and leaving him sightless, confused and light-headed.

Jean stood above him watching anxiously as Scott came running back to them, slightly breathless and bruised around the face.

            "They took Logan."

Jean's shoulders dropped as she added in a whisper, "Ororo too."

Scott shuddered in a deep regretful sigh.  "Genosha?"

Jean nodded solemnly.  "Genosha."


	5. Plans and Provisions

Chapter Five

_A.N_

Okay, so this isn't really a long chapter, and I'm still teasing in it, but with all the stuff that's been happening of late to me (I wont bore with any details), I haven't really had the time to expand on it.  It should still make for a good read though, if you've been liking what I've been doing with it so far.  Oh well, whatever reviews come through should tell me that.

_~Telaka~_

Logan could feel the truck lurching from side to side along a hole torn road, somewhere, his body sliding and battering back and forth against the steel clad walls of the powerful vehicle.  He could feel his healing factor racing to kick in to rid his body of the dominating sedative and numerous bruises that he had been collecting along the ride.  At his side he could feel Ororo curled up in a tight ball against his chest, huddled close to him as she shivered in her unwanted sleep.

And then he felt a second dart bite into the side of his rough skinned neck just as his mind was beginning to gain a foot of clarity.  He felt the familiar groggy fog drop down over him again, quickly taking hold once more and commanding him to go against his consciousness.

He managed to fight it off just long enough to wrap his arms around Ororo's waist and take her cold, smooth hands in his coarse large palmed ones.  And as he passed back into the blackness, he swore to all the heavens that were listening above he would protect her whatever way he could and at whatever personal cost that had to be paid.

----

            With another forceful grip on his shoulder Scott forced Remy back down onto the sickbay bed.  A glare of anger far surpassed any amount of emotion Scott had seen the boy express before flared in his eerie crimson irises before he caved to his mentor's firm hold and laid back down.

            "Look, Remy, they're nothing you can do right now.  Let Jean fix the cut and let the Professor do his job for now, okay?"

Although Remy could not see his eyes, he felt the hazel of Scott's own veteran gaze bore deep into his red ones along with an insistent nod of his head.  Scowling Remy nodded back and Scott let his shoulder go, standing back to allow Jean in to bathe the still open and slightly bleeding wound.

            Scott then turned his attention and sights to Bobby.  The young teen sat with his legs dangling off one of the other beds and his icy blue eyes directed down at the ground below with his back arched up high.  He hadn't dared to say a word since he had watched helplessly the porting mutant seize Logan and disappear in a haze of blue-black smoke and brimstone scent.  The colour hadn't returned in his cheeks or his voice back in his throat yet.

Scott rested his hand on his pupil's tense shoulder, gripping it reassuringly.  Finally Bobby looked up and smiled weakly, as if to lie and say without words that he was really fine.

            "You can go now."

He nodded and left in silence, leaving a patch of melting ice behind on the ice-cold bed.

----

It was rounding up for midnight, and the school was alive.

Students were pocking their curious heads out of their dormitory doors, awoken by the earlier commotions of the night outside.  Some of those who lived at the back of the mansion had managed to grab a glimpse of what had happened in the gardens and now some were afraid, others doubtful. Most simply used it as an excuse to stay up late beyond their curfew, not fully aware of the dramas that were unfolding by the hour. 

Three names flew from dorm to dorm, and pupil to pupil.  Ororo, Logan and Mystique.  The third, when heard by apprehensive ears was either met by wide eyes or unbelieving scoffs.  Some even claimed to have seen Satan himself, others stated Magneto had flowed over across the grounds.

Most were unsure of where the two older students came into it all, in between deadly foes and blue devils.  Had they switched sides?  Or were they now in the enemy's hands?

The whispers were rushes, excited, exaggerated and moreover for the better part of it, just confused rumours.  

            Two huddled figures collected at the top of the stairs waiting in tense silent for someone to pass who could offer a heads up on what was actually happening at the core of the whispers and stories.  Behind them bare feet padded from one end of the long corridor to the other, running the red carpet to reach other doors and other companion's dorms.  The real truth failed to go with any.

Kitty almost literally flew from the top of the stairs as she caught sight of Bobby emerging wearily from the maze of corridors that eventually at some point led to the medical rooms.  Jubilee was not far behind her.

            "What happened out there Bobby?  Where's Ororo, she hasn't come back to the room?  And Logan, we heard… well we've heard a lot."

His cold eyes narrowed as he snapped back at her tumble of questions.  "What is this, an interrogation?  I don't know where Storm or Logan are, they're just… gone, okay?  It's not I like I keep tabs on them or anything."

Her eyes lowered in hurt as he brushed passed her to get onto the stairs but Jubilee took up an offensive stance for her.

"Keep a civil tongue in your head Ice!  We're just… worried, and curios." 

He stopped climbing, then with an apologetic nod gestured for them to follow him back to his bedroom.

            "Come on and I'll fill you in."

----

            It was late morning before Remy managed to wake again, slightly confused and with a merciless pounding that danced over his taut temples.  He moaned grudgingly as he rolled over onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow.

He quickly cut himself short of calling out to check what was happening when he picked up on whispered voices speaking in the same room as he rested in.  He wasn't in his dorm, with Bobby, and as he began to recognise the familiar bleached walls of the medical room everything came rushing back in a wave of shame and regret.

            Beyond the blue curtain that wrapped him and his bed in a square of privacy he could see two gesturing shadows that were the sources of the voices, one standing the other sitting: Scott and Xavier.  

            "There really is nowhere else they could be Scott.  If Cerebro can't find them with either me or Jean or both of us using it then Genosha must be where they are."

The standing shadow lifted a hand to his head and lifted his shaded eyes to the ceiling.  

            "But if they're in Genosha…" He couldn't bring himself to finish.

            "I know.  Which is why I'm insisting on sending a team now, not two weeks down the line."

            "A team?  Charles, we don't _have_ a team!  We have three well-trained teachers and that's including me; that's all.  Most of the students are only just fourteen, fifteen at a push.  Ororo and Logan themselves were the most competent here, despite their fooling around.  The rest have really only just discovered what they can at the surface do."

For a second there was a pause.  Remy leant further on his elbow to listen.

            "You're forgetting Remy, Scott."

The solemn teen froze.

            "Remy?  But we hardly even know what he can do.  He wont co-operate in the Danger Room to let us see."

            "No, but now he has a reason to, don't you Remy?"

The curtains were drawn with a slight wave of the Professor's hand and then Remy was met by two expectant mentors.  One blank faced student met them.

            "Moi?"

Scott looked back down at Xavier.  "And you're sure about this, really sure?"

            "I have to be.  Get him a uniform and we'll run a few tests in the Danger Room.  That is if you're feeling well enough to, Remy?"

Remy touched on the bandages that ran around his head then remember the face of the demon who had done that and taken Ororo.  Saying nothing more he rose out of bed and walked towards the Danger Room with Scott following silently at his heal.

----

            He was the unlucky one chosen from a vast crowd of underpaid and overworked security guards to unload the live cargo.  Only the half promise of a decent bonus spurred him on to rise to the occasion.

Armed with simply a club, a small rusty pistol and two slim, silver, light flashing collars and with a small pile of forced courage he stepped up onto the parked truck that rested in the ship's cargo base ready for unloading as soon as the cargo was prepared.  He was handed the keys and behind him stood the deliverer.  If there was one thing above the bonus that prompted him to do the task, and do it right, it was her.

He gave her a small, faltering smile and she returned it with a sneer as she signalled for him to be her guest and open the door.  Beyond the steel barriers he could hear restless footsteps and low mumbling.

Three of his co-workers stood rowed together behind him, sniggering quietly but also holding themselves in hidden apprehension. 

            "Take yer time, eh Archie?"

It was Jack who had been brave enough to slur the side comment, but a pale yellow gaze from her unflinching and piercing gaze soon silenced his 'brave'throat.

Of course Mystique could more than have done the job, it would have been finished by now if she had taken the collars herself and went in to attach them.  But she was a fan of watching humans, or moreover men, squirm, and she enjoyed her rare chances to rise as a mutant amongst mice.  Rarer still, being on Genosha.

            Jack's sneer though was enough in the end to spur on Archie the rest of the way.  Archie was not stupid, just underrated.  He knew when to take a chance to prove himself, and earn a little above the poor monthly wage.  There was also the small matter of his girlfriend's birthday coming up, and he so desperately wanted to spoil her.

So with a heavy sigh he unlocked the doors and opened them wide before stepping into the darkness beyond.  Mystique promptly shut the door behind him.

There was a long second of silence and the three co-workers watched with visible anxiety as they leant forward slightly with crossed arms in the vain hope that doing so would help them discover what was going on.  That only happened though when the van began to rock.

Obviously bored with the time it was taking, Mystique began inspecting her gun, picking at the cracks that ran with dirt and locking and unlocking the safety catch idly.  She sighed a couple of times then brought herself back to attention when the door re- opened.  Archie stumbled out, battered, bruised and bloodied, but still alive and with nothing that could count as permanent or lethal damage.  She smiled widely.

            "That be your mutants tagged Miss."

She nodded and without delay handed over the money.  He wasn't a bad man; she could see that in his timid brown eyes.  He had no distaste for mutants, only his co-workers.

            "Diamonds and whatnot are always appreciated by a woman, especially if they come on a ring, perhaps even a necklace.  And perhaps a silver one?"

He nodded silently as he eyed the five thousand, nestling securely in his clammy palm.  "T-thank you Miss."  He then tipped his grimy hat and left, co-workers quiet at his heal.

She nodded and got back into the van, waving out the open window as she drove off out the cargo base, and into the barren lands of Genosha.  Archie grinned widely back as she left.

"See Jack, told you they weren't all that bad."


	6. Family Life and Obligations

Chapter Six

**__**

            His hands glowed with crimson as fierce as the spark found in his narrow black eyes.  Amidst the ball of offence was a playing card, the nine of diamonds, barely visible in the blazing inferno of pent up energy.  It was a reflection of his rage, but only a fraction of it.  In its own metaphoric way it showed what had been lost.  

After all this time, and after months here, years of his life even, he had finally chosen to share, and had finally been approached without distaste, or fear.  But that one body that had shown that one smidgen of respect and intrigue was gone.  At least, when he reminded himself of this his attacks came harder and faster.

            The darting target that creped up on his back was brought to splinters in one thrust of his coiled arm and one restrained grunt.  Above him eyebrows were raised.

            Hank turned to Scott.  "He's not bad, you know.  He could just."

Scott frowned deeply, crossing his arms and shifting on his feet in portrayal of reluctance.  He watched Remy with a scrutinising gaze as the young boy made his way around the exercise, dodging with graceful ease and destroying with bursts of scornful anger.  

He was not perfect by any means – often he would stumble or only scuff his target – but the potential was there, in abundance.  All he lacked was years of experience.  This above all was what most bothered Scott.

            "But if we're right about Genosha…" he hesitated for a second then coughed, "we don't have enough time to prepare him, not nearly enough time."

            "Then let him go as he is."

Both men turned on hearing the quiet, almost distanced voice and were met by a pair of troubled green eyes.  The green eyes remained focused on Remy, beyond the couple's shoulders and the wide screened viewing window.  He was nearing the end of the programme now.

            "Jean…"

            "If he was completely incompetent then he wouldn't be going with us.  But along with the kinetic energy that Charles was _finally_ able to confirm in him, he has a motive, and it's stronger than any of yours."

With every word quietly uttered on the tongue she sounded closer to actual tears.  It was a thing to admire, her love and compassion for the pupils, both set on a level the others could not understand, despite having their own bonds and ties with the main body of young mutants.

Scott and Hank were aware that they had a concrete duty to retrieve their missing students; they would try as best they could to prevent their deaths, or whatever else would come if they were to be left on Genosha, of course they would.  But they lacked the compassion of a parent missing a child, (in this case two).  Logan and Ororo's deaths, if it did eventually come to that, would be tragic, easily worth a period of deep, heart-wrenching grievance, but rational thoughts and compromises had to be made, and sacrifices avoided at best.

Jean could feel the hesitation of both, she felt complied almost to reach forward and grab it, destroy it in her tense fist as Remy did so willingly now with his targets in the Danger Room.  Instead she scowled, to an extend shaming her fiancé and friend in that one defined look.

            "If you tell me Ororo and Logan aren't worth it…"

            "Jean—"

            "I'm going to get Remy a uniform."

It was her final statement, as she turned on a sharply twisted heal and left the matter unopened for any further debate.  On that the simulation ended down below.

            "I often do wonder who's boss out of you two."

Hank said nothing more as he began to run another programme, one level up.

----

            It seemed on approach that some of the dreary darkness that usually evoked the Darkholme's stand-alone semi-mansion had dispensed in itself, giving reluctant way to a pale wintry sun.  The surrounding forestry was now more a mixture of emerald greens and earthy browns than its norm of muddy blacks and jades.  The lawns seemed not so pitifully dry and dead as it usually presented itself and the skies were not so pessimistically grey.  

This was partly down to the crisp, early autumn that upper New York was receiving after its brief heat wave, with fresh breezes and a clean sky coming slowly over the town and its leafy borders.  

But even in the best of autumns the enigmatic and shrewd household often suffered from a drab and heavy atmosphere, portraying the often hopeless moods of the occupants inside.   This was what had been missing for the past few days, and was more the reason for the lift on the house than the bright bout of season.  There wasn't exactly a sickly cheer about but there was a sense of slight light-heartedness, and even ease.

Only two of the usual three occupying bodies were present for the time being.

A lively crimson dashed fire danced over a shallow pile of rotting logs, the wood and bark decaying from last year's pile and now finally being set to ashes.  The tall flames took off the sometimes biting edges of the crisp and cold winds, or the ones that managed to sneak through the crevices and holes of the house anyway.  They also fascinated Kurt and his juvenile innocence to no end.

            "Why?"

            "Why?"  Rogue extended her legs out from under a short, leather-stitched skirt and stretched her stiff calf muscles along a thick dusty rug.  She gave her brother's skinny fork-tipped tail an affectionate tug with her cotton gloved hand as he crouched facing the performance of flames, his pale yellow gaze locked firmly on it and nothing more.  On the tug though he whipped the 'third arm' of sorts away from her, then flicked its fine tip and laid it out over her lacy-sock clad ankles.  There was where it rested in motionless peace.

            "'Cause it keeps us warm ah suppose.  And they're relaxin' to watch."

His slow bobbing head agreed to that.  She smiled slightly, and happily.

Kurt's short pelt of indigo rustled and swayed in a breeze as slight as Rogue's smile, but still he shivered under his loose, faded green tee and frayed denim shorts.

            "Ah told you you should've put somethin' warmer on."  She then looked down at herself and noted that her mini-skirt and halter neck top were hardly shining examples of the advice.

            "Wait here."

His tail uncurled from her ankles as she rose and then finally his eyes moved from the fire, looking up at her instead, frightened.  She ruffled his short cut of navy blue hair and pulled his fringe out from over his gaze.

            "Ah'm just gonna get us some jumpers is all, give me a minute."

Reluctantly he nodded and watched her take leave.  Seconds later his curiosity resurfaced again as embers leapt high and died just outside the hearth, his sister forgotten in their white amber glow.  

            His room was almost impossible to skewer.  Amidst an array of jars and scattered toys, and underneath his tossed blankets and colourful picture books Rogue was sure somewhere was her brother's room.  She was still to find it though, and she was determined to, one of these days.

At the bottom of his cosy bed lay a jumper, a thin red one that she had made by herself in a Home Economics class one long and tedious lesson in the winter, along with several after that.  It seemed to be his favourite, as it was thin not from bad craftsmanship but from the amount of times he had donned it, and at times it was the only sensible piece of garment either she or their mother could dress him in.  So she grabbed it and made to get one of her own from her own considerable more organised room when she head the howl of intense pain.

Amidst a rush of missed heartbeats and a paling of her facial skin Rogue leapt from bedroom to hallway, down the twisting stairs and into the living room in less than a tenth of the time it would usually have taken.  Horrible worry and the worst sprang to mind along the way.

            She was confronted by the disturbing sight of her brother curled up in a back corner of the spaciously floored room, his right hand buried in his left and his finely furred cheeks dampened in salty fright.

She managed after seeing this to at least regain a steady heartbeat, knowing fine well it could have been far worse than a whimper in the corner.

            " Aw Kurt…"

Across his three knuckles was a slight burn with the fur singed and the skin below reddened.  Nothing serious, but enough she imagined to cause sufficient pain for  a prompt of tears and upset.

            "Here, let me see."

She reached carefully forward to take his wrist and his reaction was instant.  Faster than even she could determine his left fist flew forward in a forceful thrust and connected hard with her cheekbone, sending her back a good few meters and then some before she skidded over the thick rug and to a final stop.

In turn a shock of pain ran up Kurt's arm with a vicious sting, dazing him for a minute and then sending him into louder fits of confused tears.  He retracted further into the shadows of the corner, whimpering and biting his lip.  He peered over his knees every few seconds for a quick glance at Rogue, before he rushed to burry his guilty face away again.

            Slowly Rogue began to pull herself back up, shocked by the force of the punch, but not so much by the fact that her own brother had thrown it.  She opened and shut her jaw carefully, touching under her eye socket tenderly and wincing as the skin there throbbed with heat.  She held back the tears though – they were not necessary.

            On Kurt's next coy glance up she caught his eye and held it.  With her index finger she motioned for him to come over to her.  He shook his head.

            "Kurt…" Her voice was low, demanding even, however not angry, only forceful.

He whimpered again, but slowly obeyed, coming forward on all fours, 'limping' on his right hand.  Promptly after arriving in front his sister he crossed his legs and pouted, wrapping his snaking tail around his bony knees.  Rogue gave him an affectionate stroke of the cheek.

            "Did ya hurt in the fire?"

He nodded shyly.

            "See, that's why ah told ya not to touch it, it's hot, it'll sting ya."

  "Sting…" He contemplated the idea.

            "Uh huh.  Now will you let me see where it stings?"

Again he nodded in timid agreement and began extending out his burnt knuckles when the front door opened.  Leaping onto his three toed feet within a flash of a second Kurt literally sprang to meet the new body, grinning and yipping almost as if the fire incident had never happened.  Rogue admired that in him, and was envois of the quality to forget at the drop of a new event.

            With a sigh and a short roll of her alluring green eyes she lifted herself again and took to joining the bundle of restless energy in the grim hallway.  There was where the only other occupant to take residence in this mansion stood, Raven.

Her face was a picture of fatigue, her slim body stiff with hours of travel and her eyes longing to shut over.  But her lips were curled up very slightly with an accent of smug triumph.  It told Rogue the answers to pretty much everything she wanted to ask.

            Kurt looked from mother to daughter, eyed the smiles and decided to indulge in one himself.  He then shrugged in lost interest and ported up the brass railed winding stairs, as he often had a tendency to do.  Rogue was left with jumper in hand. 

            "Xavier's went well then?"

Raven began walking and motioned for Rogue to follow at heal.  She touched lightly on the forming bruise of her daughter's for only a second on passing before they carried on.  They were back into the dark study room seconds later.

            "Well, I just about got all I had came for."

Rogue frowned as she leant over her mother's shoulder, watching the computer closely as it came to life, files and document flying over the small glowing screen as nimble fingers worked the keyboard and mouse.

The same data with pictures and stats of all Xavier's current students were displayed to the women again.

            "We managed to catch her fine."   Raven pointed to Ororo and Rogue nodded.

            "But not him."  Raven pointed to Remy and Rogue frowned.

            "We took him instead."  Raven pointed to Logan a little down and Rogue smiled again.

            "They still fetched a fair price together."

Rogue nodded.  "And did you talk to Mags?"

Now Raven hesitated.  Quickly Rogue stood back and crossed her arms, scowling silently.  She needn't have said a word to inject the guilt.

            "I didn't have the time, they wanted me off as soon as the students had been collared and registered.  But I've passed the word that I want to see him, and he knows fine well to come."

As expected Rogue was not convinced, but still she nodded and found herself willing to believe it – to an extent.

            There was another heart-wrenching sob from above.  Raven started but Rogue stopped her with a grim smile and short shake of the head.

            "Probably just another argument in Kurt's war against the elements, or inanimate objects, maybe even the roaches.  Easily fixed."

Rogue left with a smirk and Raven could only assume she know what she was doing, which she usually did with Kurt.

Her head fell into her hands and a shiver of depression scorned her arched back.  The sooner she dragged herself out of this dank rut the sooner her children could live.

----

            Sterile walls, a sterile floor with a sterile ceiling to match the sterile corners and sterile air.  All white, a slight tint of cream barely evident.  A tile clad room, small but not cramped.  No vents, no windows, no lonely door, but a room with only three tall walls and then a missing forth, a wide empty gap up front instead.  

Beyond was a corridor and across the sterile tiled corridor another three walled room with a missing forth.  It was neighboured by more three walled rooms and the neighbours neighboured by more still.  A long row of cubical was formed as a result.  The corridor was long, ending at a respectful distance away on a steel enforce door at either cold end. 

There were no sounds to accompany the sights.

The cubical was warm.

            Her arm slid over a spotlessly clean lino floor, and her palm made a slight slapping noise as she began to drag herself up.  Her torso ached feverishly.  The most domineering of all the pain she was experiencing now though came from the centre of her hot forehead.  

Finally, blindly, she managed to sit up with her back arched high, her shoulder blades out like wings and her long legs laid out in front of her.  The butt of her palm pressed hard into her closed eye sockets and she rubbed slowly, trying to revive some sense of comfort into her crying body.

            "Logan?"

Her voice cracked and she coughed dryly in discomfort.  She then dropped her hands onto her lap and blinked furiously at the sight before her, the white lights with the white tiles and lino stinging her as bad as the headache did.  

There was Logan, directly opposite of her, already standing and pacing in his own cubical.

            "Mornin' 'Ro."

She scowled, then found it hurt to do so.

            "Ode to a healing factor, and to have one right now."

He scoffed quietly and crossed his arms, taking to leaning on one of the walls as he stared aimlessly at his feet.  "I'll ode with ye then."

She didn't catch on as she went back to massaging her face.  

"Don't go gloating or I'll pound you." 

He smiled wryly.  "Can't ye tell when I'm letting on the truth anymore?  Go on an' hit me with a bolt, I'd like to see you try."

She looked back up at him in a flash of a second, her head spinning a little as she did, and he gestured to her slim neck.  There was where she touched lightly, and took hold of a cold smooth slim collar.  Her face sank in realisation.

            "Knew it was too quiet here…  So the collars are?"

            "Bastard examples of humanities desperateness to control."

Logan's back began sliding down the wall slowly amidst a heavy sigh.

            "How long's it been?"

He shrugged.  "Since the truck; could be anything from an hour to a day.  From the mansion; probably two or three days."

Silence reigned for a minute.  Ororo took a closer look round.  

            "It doesn't look much like the simulations."

Logan managed a smile, a fonder smile, less gruff and cynical.

            "That's 'cause we never got to the compound levels.  Too much muckin' about."

            "Ah, so _that's _where we are…" Reality struck harder.  "Guess you could call it the end now then."

Logan looked neither thrilled to agree with her nor willing to decline the very near real reality of the statment.  

            "Well, it aint over till it's over darlin'."

            "Darling?"

Both suddenly froze.  One of the steel clad doors, to Ororo's left and Logan's right began from the other side to unlock, a series of chimes and clicks and grinds signalling its slow release of lock.  The two were back on their feet before the door began on its hinges.

Ororo advanced on the missing fourth wall.  It hadn't occurred to her until that moment then to touch the empty space and query what was keeping her imprisoned.  Her slim fingers moved forward, and as Logan caught sight of her actions from the corner of his eye and went to draw breath to warm her, the steel door was sprung and Ororo thrown back.  A heavy jolt threw her to the back wall as a heavy echo ran direct through the straight and narrow corridor.  She screamed as footsteps hollered and Logan could do no more than growl and snarl.  He was hopelessly useless to her and painfully aware of it.

            Four bodies were merging into view now, three ridiculously well armed guards and one well-rounded official.  The fourth took on a ridged and trimmed stance, his footfall sharp and his composure trained.  

His eyes were a hue of intriguing grey, not dull as grey eyes tended to be but attentive and focused.  His attire was neither entirely formal not the normal casual, just a loose shirt with tailored black trousers a brown leather belt and no tie.  His hair was nothing special, a plain brown with speckles of emerging grey and white, and of a length long enough to make into a tight pony tail, also being thick enough not for it to look stupid.

Overall he did not appeared fierce or hating, yet he did not look entirely approachable either, at least you would not come to him voluntarily or without good cause and motive.  He looked a man who needed no friends and made only wise allies, yet would snobbishly socialise and make pleasantries for show. 

            He stopped in front of Logan.  They made instant opposites; rough and smooth, squat and graciously tall, raged and calm.  Their only common ground lay in the immediate hatred that passed between them on first sight. 

            "The high an' mighty Mags ah'm presumin'.  Holy king of kitchen magnets an' all that.  Yep, we've heard it all."

 Magneto nodded.  "And the Wolverine," he paused them smiled very slightly at the tip corners of his lips, "nothing more to say to that really."

A small groan was issued from behind.  Then a few curses.  Magneto turned in one swooping angle, his hands held behind his back.

Ororo was crawling up onto her feet again, her hands gripping as best they could the smooth wall, with her chest heaving at the effort.  Loose stands of frayed snowy white hung over her narrow eyes and she blew them away with puffs of quiet temper.

Magneto nodded, again, almost as if approving of her, but not quite.

            "Storm.  No further guesses there, although your profile is a little more impressive than your friend's."

Eyes were tuned back onto Logan for a second.  Ororo's own black hatred rivalled his, but didn't quite rise high enough to equal it.

His teeth were bared, the long canines over-lapping his dry lips amidst a low snarl.  His teenage youth was gone, his face darkened and experienced, his eyes a holder of the same roguish tint to be found in his namesake.

            The guards around Magneto seemed agitated, shifting on the balls of their feet and gripping tighter on their biggest guns.

            "Do you wish a tour?"

The simple question managed to stump both teens but Magneto merely offered a cool smile.

            "Really the question is one of an order as you're coming with us anyway, regardless of protest, but I felt obliged to break a little of the tension between us right now."

Still there was no answer from either, if the intensifying of narrow glares was not to be counted as an answer.

            "Michael."

The guard directly behind Magneto left his post and headed back for the door they had entered in from.  Beside the hinges was an alignment of small silver switches.  Two were flicked by Michael and in response the invisible fourth walls of Ororo and Logan's cubical shimmered blue and then 'disappeared'. 

On instinct to hurt, the duo came forward on Magneto but guns were instantly trained to them, pressed into their chests as they stepped towards poised barrels and heard bullets cock into place.  Magneto shook his head.

            "Young people.  So you will be coming then."

The guards on that word shackled the young mutants roughly, not daring to consider the fact that they were only dealing with juveniles, powerless mutants even, as they pulled their wrists tightly behind their backs.  Magneto offered them the walk of the corridor first.

            They were not alone.

The occasional cubical held further more young teenagers, mutants also they presumed, all collared and bruised and bloodied in some fashion or degree.  

Some paced restlessly, giving no attention to the proceedings.  Others retracted into the corners weeping, or more disturbingly rocking with blank eyes looking to nothing but speaking still to something, inaudible mutters of secretes to what had brought forth this mental decline.

            Logan hid whatever plight or pity he might have had to show these people, but Ororo was visibly horrified and disturbed, very close to tears, or vomit.

One particular girl out of the five or six others caught her shocked eye, a skinny blonde girl, most likely her age and not a year older or younger.  Her eyes were as shockingly blue as the enigmatic irises of Ororo's, outlined with red splashes from hot tears.  They were fixed just over her knees, to the lino below.  Her clothes were all white, save for the dirty rips and stains of blood.  A deep white scar ran down one of her temples.

            "Shall we then?"

As Magneto urged the guards on he caught direction of Ororo's fixed and sickened gaze.  His smile was something of a proud one.

            "Oh don't mind Miss Frost, Miss Munroe.  She really has nothing to complain or weep about, she being our best yet and all.  So many rewarding tests and runs just from one lone subject.  She really is a miracle.  We'll be taking good care of her for a long time."

Ororo didn't stay fixed on Miss Frost for much longer.  On one fast turned heal she spun and lifted her other leg to Magneto's chest, directing her sole straight into it.  The unexpectedness of it meant a successful deliver.  

For a split second Magneto showed a flash of weakness and hurt as he reclined back slightly and grunted.

Ororo moved for another but on the second lunge she was force to her knees as a bolt of electricity ran from her shackles to right through her torso.  She was beginning to realise what it meant to be on the receiving end of her own electrically charged temper.

Logan stayed stationary.  

            Dusting off his shirt and realigning his ridged stance Magneto signalled for the guards to drag up Ororo, who batted off any help, and force the two to walk on.

            "Well I thing we shall then."


	7. Guinea Pigs for the Slaughter

_A.N _

Time for a big guilty wave I think. I know, I know it's been too long since I updated this piece, but come on, you didn't think I was just gonna let it rot did you? Well I ask that to those of my loyal readers who will still actually be interested in reading this piece.

Anyway, after an encouraging review from _Darlin _I knew I couldn't let this poor piece die on the hard drive. It was after all a piece I had a million and one ideas for way back when I wasn't bogged down with exam work (and then distracted by the T.V show _Enterprise_ which inspired the fic that's taking up all my time right now).

So now I'm gonna resurrect those million and one muses, play about with a few of them and start writing out again the wicked plans I had prepared. Okay so '_Show Class…_' wont exactly be updated every week, but I'm not gonna leave it for six months again _-weak smile-_

So if I can be forgiven, I'll just carry on here with the chapter now. Enjoy.

----

It was a beautiful night; a velvety stretch of midnight blue scattered with a handful of bold white stars and their father moon casting its own watchful yellow glow over them and those down below on the shadow licked Earth. It was the kind of night that made you feel lucky to be alive just to witness these few hours, to feel the prickling breezes and absorb the sweet scent of dew and grass that were carried on the gentle winds with the sounds of the nocturnal and the familiar feel of home still around you.

Remy retreated slowly from the balcony railings as a billow of frozen breath shot out from his nostrils, and wanderer back into his warm and mess-drenched bedroom. His bare soles slapped down on the concrete and then wooden lino, his toes curling in the new heat.

Bobby sat up watching him, although he tried his best to make it discreetly obvious that he wasn't. A handsomely tall pile of maths homework sat barely balanced on his crossed lap, his alibi for claiming he was not watching his roommate.

Remy had counted the days since the attack. Only four had passed, but without Bobby's Rebecca Romijn-Stamoscalendar he could easily have been tricked into thinking it was weeks, or more than that even that had passed.

Bobby decided to voice some of his lingering curiosities as he watched (with very slight worry) the tall and lanky Cajun stand with his back to his roommate doing nothing more but crane his neck down and watch his feet shuffle back and forth with his hands clenched together behind his back.

He thought this quite a brave thing to do, to try and make conversation with Remy, that and quite a pointless act seeing as the only person who had been able string a full, audible sentence from him so far had been Ororo herself.

"So… you're off to Genosha I hear."

He managed to get the enigmatic teen's attention at least in saying this. Slowly Remy turned. Bobby, being Bobby, fully expected to be met by the familiar and well-to-be-avoided flashing glare of Remy's restless crimson irises, and so he cowered shamelessly. Instead though he was given no rage or abuse, but in its place a simple tilt of the head. Some of Remy's long stringy brown hair fell over his pale face and he brushed it absently away with slender fingers.

"Where you 'ear dat from?"

The question was not accusing or spat in demand, only as curious as Bobby's own wary tone. He straightened up slightly, with – needless to say – the maths sheets and laboured textbooks abandoned.

"Where did I hear it? It's all over the school man!"

Remy waited patiently for a more detailed answer and Bobby decided not to tease him on the matter.

"Well, personally I heard it from Jubes—"

"Jubes?"

Bobby went slack jawed for a second, quickly collecting himself to avoid any signs of seeming rude. "Jubes. Jubilee. Jubilation Lee, you know, the perky mouthed one. Always wears the stupid yellow trench. Don't you know her?"

In all honest Remy shook his head, looking for the better part lost on Jubilee's identity.

Bobby scratched the back of his head idly. "So, who do you know here?"

Remy hesitated with a slight blush. "Ah—not many. Ororo, an' Logan, an' you. De teachers, an' Charlie. 'Em, one lil' fille by de name o' Pryde ah t'ink shouted at me once, on de stairs."

Bobby nodded and flashed a quick roguish grin. "Yeah, you should avoid that one when it's her flamin' time of the month."

Remy tilted his head again and frowned. Bobby searched his face then shook his head slowly in quiet disbelief. Quiet at first, at least.

"Don't tell me you don't know about a woman's raging week?"

Remy paused, then laughed. He came to sit on his own bed and took a pack of neatly stacked cards from his tableside. They lay beside a pair of red tinted sunglasses and those beside a dog-eared copy of Douglas Adam's trilogy of the four, _The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. _

"So you 'ear de news from Mademoiselle Lee. Where she 'ear it from?"

Bobby shrugged. "Probably from your friend Pryde. And I'm betting Jean leaked it to them. She's like one of the girl's sometimes, it's not right. She might have said it to one of the other clan, maybe Rahne."

"Rahne?"

"Little Scottish chick, turns into a wolf from time to time. Looks better that way too if you ask me, a big improvement on the nose."

Remy shuffled the cards absentmindedly and smiled again. "Yeah, ah t'ink ah've seen 'er runnin' 'bout as a wolf 'afore."

"And you never wondered why a brown wolf was running about the mansion grounds freely?"

Remy shrugged aloofly. "Ah take near everythin' 'ere for granted. If der be a wolf runnin' 'bout den der be a wolf runnin' 'bout. Long as it aint killin' anyone ah've got nothin' more to say or t'ink about it. More'n a couple times ah thought it was Logan anyway. Guess ah was wrong."

Bobby's ice blue gaze was tipped with part admiration, and a little full of wonder to the thought of how crazy his roommate really was. He wasn't so intimidated by him anymore though; Remy was less alien and hostile than he had first judged of him and he had to give him his due credit for being a seemingly decent guy – just a little out with it, a loner crammed into a flock.

"You're a funny kinda person, you know. Why don't you come fraternise every so often? We don't bite, not if you bring moulded sugar in addictively bright packaging with you."

Remy began slicing his deck in half and pushing it back together again with natural grace and unmatchable speed. He seemed to have turned shy in the conversation, and his cards had become his anchored getaway from the awkward parts that could often occur in a first time fully fledged conversation with someone you had hardly uttered two words to before in your entire lives together.

That was something that had been missing from Remy and Ororo's rooftop discussion – awkwardness.

"I've seen you looking at her…"

Remy's eyes shot back up to Bobby and the young blond tensed slightly. He didn't stop though, flexing his luck slightly and feeling it would hold.

"Usually when you think Logan isn't keeping an eye on you. But he always is. I've seen you trip up in the corridors and through doorways, just to hold your gaze on a little longer. And when she offers you a passing smile you practically leap man. But when she was taken away, I saw your eyes. I was terrified, and so was whatever took away her. He didn't want to do it, but he did. And you're prepared to kill to bring her back here."

Silence reigned.

Bobby shrugged and stretched forward to grab his escaping pencil from the end of the bed. With that tool in hand he opened a textbook and gave himself a fresh jotter page in his maths book, then smiled offhandedly at Remy.

"Don't you just love Pythagoras?"

----

_Five Years Previously_

"This will be your new home." The sickly sweet voice chuckled lightly. "If you choose it to be anyway."

The voice was easily ignored though, for a change, as this 'new home' began to present itself in all its grossly vast riches on a slow crawl up and along a curved and twisted mile long gravel driveway. Chips of stone crunched and flicked under the wheels of the glossy black Rolls Royce which had already driven through a quarter mile of man-planted forestry, passing one high wired iron gate to obtain into it and then another as they escaped the heavy foliage.

Now presented before them was a flat canvas of neatly trimmed and perfectly green grass, divided in its flawless surface by only the dusty stretch of drive, several highly built solid marble fountains and a generously sized swimming pool.

Of course your attention could not dwell on these rich sights for long. The three-story mansion headed in front of it all quickly demanded your full and undivided attention.

Lush ivy leaves and stems dominated its ancient and sturdy sandy brown Victorian walls, but not a crack or chip painted the surface to tell you of its grand age. It seemed as freshly built a piece as the two-year-old mansion three miles down the road that counted as this estate's closest neighbours.

From only a glance outside, by counting each gold framed window, it looked to be as if there were around fifteen bedrooms, and probably then some, but he wasn't prepared to show he was taking that much interest, yet.

The vintage car stopped short of four onyx front door steps and the driver turned to his old companion who shared the front with him. The old man turned to their young company in the back.

The boy's eyes had been hidden behind his sunglasses since the awkward introductions that had been made at the orphanage. His hands were clad in thick brown leather gloves and they gripped hard around the worn handle of a small rucksack subconsciously.

He was nervous, terribly so.

"Remy?"

The young mutant, verging on his teen hood, jumped in his seat before the seatbelt jarred into his neck. Quickly he brought his full attention forth to the man who had gently called his name. Nervous was perhaps in this case not the most fitting term.

"I'll have Scott show you to your new room if you like, or I can give you a tour of the mansion first, whichever you prefer."

Although the crippled man continued to smile in a way than Remy had to admit was comforting on some level, he still turned his hidden eyes away shyly. There had been rare few times when he had been presented with a free choice such as this. Making a decision for himself, to cater for his own whims and wants and not someone else's, was something almost beyond the young mutant's capability. Something he would learn to do hopefully in this millionth 'new beginning' he had been given. Or so the orphanage and Xavier preyed.

Xavier was a patient man, more than willing to sit whilst his new charge thought over his new situation and the choice. He did not dare pry into his mind but did feel the radiation of confusion and curiosity leek from his strong emotional barrier.

"I'll get your bags if you like."

The driver turned round and Remy felt his eyes glance up to the young man's face briefly. He liked his shades.

"Merci."

Scott nodded with a warm smile and unlocked the car's doors. "No problem."

A cold breeze dashed through the Rolls Royce as Scott stepped out into what was supposed to be a humid day in mid-July. Xavier and Scott shared a frown whilst Remy thought nothing of it.

"Ah'd like to go to ma room first, if dat be alright Monsieur Xavier."

Xavier hardly heard the boy's meek whisper, but turned in time to just catch his words. He smiled yet again as the boot was opened.

"Of course, that's fine. Take all the time you need to unpack settle in and when you feel up for a tour just come down to my office. If I'm not there Scott here will be more than happy to show you—"

His cheery words were cut short as his brow dove into a deep frown again. The breeze was growing bolder, almost artic. Even through his brown trench Remy could feel it as it bit across his pale cheeks. The sun still split the skies but it seemed to have no control over its own heat anymore as the air itself plummeted in degrees.

Suddenly the mansion's great oak doors flew open, splintering at the hinges as they slammed hard into the ivy walls. The blue tinted pane of glass above the entrance began to shake as it was pushed to breaking point and then shattered a hundred times over across the porch. The sun still shone brightly and the air still froze around them.

And then a body flew by before them, clearing the stairs and the car before it came to a crashing halt on the grass. There were screams from the doorway.

"You ever call me a thief again Logan and I'll break your neck _clean_, you hear!"

A young girl stood at the doorway, her white hair wild in the winds that surrounded her and her eyes furious and misty. Her chest heaved heavily and her fists were blue with rage. She showed no pity for the figure she had just hurdled like a bad lunch.

He showed no signs of injury however and threw himself up onto his feet, growling like a scorched wolf as he did so. He said nothing though before he turned sharply with hunched shoulders and walked himself into the woods behind them.

Remy sunk down low in his seat. Xavier looked from one teenager to another with hapless eyes. As Logan disappeared into the woods Ororo vanished into the mansion, giving her mentors and new fellow student absolutely no consideration. The air quickly turned warm once again.

There was a thud behind the car and Remy jumped. Scott walked by dragging his one sagging suitcase and still wearing an optimistic smile.

"Welcome to the X Mansion Remy. We did try to tell you we're not exactly like other households."

----

She screamed, and when she could scream no more she cried. And then when her tear dux were empty she screamed again. And then her throat caught fire and she fell into a whimpering silence.

She closed her eyes and lapsed into a sickly grey darkness, and then when fear began to tighten her heart she opened them again and was forced to gaze upon the endless sterile surroundings of her enclosure and the ivory hallway around it.

She felt sick but had no food to be sick with. She felt exhausted but was only sitting down. She felt confused and there was no offering of clarity to clear it. She felt alone, and she had been left herself. She looked across the hallway, to the cell directly opposite hers. Logan was gone.

They had been taken on the tour, the one Magneto had promised them, and despite their constant struggle against it they had been spared no detail. From the labs in which the scientists worked with test tubes, to the arenas where they worked with live mutants, they had been shown all and all had been shown with glowing pride.

Whilst watching a young lab-rat, who could not have been any older than fourteen at a stretch, being chased around a tiny box room by a Doberman to see if perhaps he could be provoked into using his 'gift' Ororo had felt her fists tempted towards Magneto's face, again. She also felt her knees groaning beneath her, begging and tempting her with a churning stomach just to fall to the floor in fitful tears, and unfortunately the latter had won.

They had tried to drag her up, but she had pulled herself back down. They had tried to threaten her up, and Logan had instantly taken decisive action. She bit a guard's wrist and snapped another's ankle, and eventually she had been brought back to where for them it had started on Genosha, the miserable, sterile cells.

Now she sat there, curled into the corner as she fought off the cold without her mutation, and fought off a front of loneliness and dread for why Logan was still with them, and she not.

Hours past, she guessed, although there was no clocks to gauge time with. In this time she was introduced to the common sounds of her new residency.

From the bottom of the corridor was a constant low wailing, like a growling moan with the stabbing of pain in each beat. There was the whisper of insanity and mixed up words, and the scraping of bloody fingernails against the walls. Every so often there was the distinct sound of someone throwing themselves against the 'fourth wall', only to be met by a painful shock and hard white floor. At one point there was a sneeze and then a sobbing laughter, which echoed for minutes on end.

Ororo began to feel sick with the soundtrack in the background. She pushed herself into the corner and then shoved her fingers into her ears until it hurt. Her teeth ground together and her knees shook. She squeezed her eyes until they watered and then felt her throat move as she herself began to quietly sob herself.

She had so much spirit, so much rebellion and strength. She was as wild as the blazing white of her hair, and as teasing and secretive as the blue of her eyes. She had an answer for everything and a defence over her emotions. She should have been able to sit through what she heard, waited patiently until Logan came back to give her someone to talk to.

But something was cracking, the shields were melting and she was becoming uncomfortably vulnerable. She hadn't the sweet feel of nature under her fingertips anymore, or even the familiar voices of the teachers and the students in the mansion around her to listen to. Most importantly and most difficultly she didn't have Logan.

A sharp shard of reality reminded her of this and suddenly her twisted lips parted and gave way to a furious scream. Around her the hallway fell silent.

Slowly her fingers pulled away from her ears and her lids pealed open. A shadow was standing over her, waiting.

"It be best advised that you eat ma'am. If ya don't eat then we stop feedin' ya and use the money for more useful causes."

The sweet Southern twang came down on her like a feather of reality. The words were hardly kind and comforting but she was reminded that humanity, even this cruel branch of it, still surrounded her. This slowed her thundering heart and tentatively she looked up.

The face was no kinder than the words, but it was just as human. A plain looking man with a sandy brown beard and uninterested hazel eyes prompted her to take a tray of grey lumpy food from him. With a thanking nod she did. He left in silence.

And then her eyes flew up again. As he moved from her line of sight she saw what had changed in the cell opposite her and her heart soared.

"Logan…"

He looked up, his arms hanging over his knees and his face shadowed with bruises. Nonetheless he offered his friend a relieved smile.

"Ready to face the world again then darlin'?"

She frowned, crawling forward and tilting her head to the side slightly. "How long have you been here?"

He shrugged. "Long enough to see you're not exactly happy with the new living arrangements. And ah suggest y' only eat about half of that. The stuff's loaded with somethin' that aint good for the digestive system."

She kicked it to the side for now.

"Ah do suggest you eat some of it thought."

"I will, I will. First, you talk. What took so long?"

Logan grimaced. "A bunch of overly enthusiastic scientists is what took me so long. Ah told y' this damn healin' factor would be the death of me one day."

Ororo smiled weakly before she straightened her features again. "How?"

"Well it's not like ah could really hear all that mutterin' and whisperin' but it makes enough sense that a healin' factor makes for a long lasting experiment. This place is loaded with all that junk. All the rumours about Genosha, the experiments, the dissecting, the psychology tests, ah saw it all, it's all true. And there aint a doubt in hell we're next for some new crazy idea."

A fleeting mount of horror seized Ororo's eyes and she looked upon Logan desperately.

"The rumour about the Government wanting to control the weather… You think that's true?"

She lost her eye contact with Logan as he offered her another shrug.

"Ah don't know how involved the Government is in all this. Ah saw the Army, and… the FBI, ah think. Whatever this is, it's serious and it's well funded, and we're in the middle of it."

The biting reality Ororo thought she had grasped of her situation suddenly left her on a mocking wind of confusion. She lost her reasoning and understanding and felt the urge once again to retreat into the corner. With Logan's eyes on her though she didn't dare.

"Do you think the others have figured it out yet, where we are?"

Logan nodded. "Without a doubt. There's only two places missing mutants go; Genosha or the bottom of the ocean. So now we just need to hope they stay optimistic enough to consider Genosha as the first place to search."

Ororo fell back with a depressing sigh. She dipped a finger into the warm lumpy hill of grey on the cracked white tray. Heaving another deep sigh she ate what sat perched on her fingertip. She spoke and her words, although desperately trying to seem light-hearted and quirky, trembled with fear and haplessness instead.

"Here's waiting for the cavalry to arrive then."


	8. A Little of Then, A Little of the Future

_A.N: No bones about it, I am ashamed thatit was inAugust '05 the last time this piece saw an update. And after making a solemn promise that I wouldn't do that again, leave ridiculous amounts of time between reviews. Though in my defence (as I feel I should give at least some) August was when I started college and had just about no idea what exactl I was in for, work load wise._

_Anyway, the summer is now upon me, and once again the writing bug has envoloped me, and hopefully this roll I'm on will continue into another chapter within the next month. This time I'm loathed to make it a promise, so at least if it doesn't happen it wont bring as much guilt, but I swear I'll try my best. I'm surprised I'm even still getting reviews for this to be honest; thanks to all who are still bothering to read it. Praise yourselves as being a big part of why chapter eight has finally arrived. Thanks again._

_Telaka_

_**Ch8 - A Little Of Then, A Little Of The Future**_

Ororo's story was a simple one to tell, yet steeped in psychological complexities and burnt emotions, and was one she despised these days to recall.

At the tender age of six her parents had begun to notice odd little symptoms in their odd little daughter. She had an almost consuming tendency to walk around in filth and mud in her bare feet and a dangerously obsessive compulsion to play in heavy, brutal rain showers. And as disturbing and absurd as it seemed (they never dared utter the notion allowed) both David and N'Dare Munroe had slowly grown convinced of the idea that sometimes she urged these storms on herself…

The mutant phenomenon was but an infant rumour new to the Americans' lips at the time, but already it inspired a fear of the unknown into all the Mr and Mrs Jones of the public.

So, after much complex and hushed debate, Mr and Mrs Munroe had decided to move back to Africa, without their only child, who they grew ever more akin to believe would one day become an indispensable part of this arising folkdevil.

Ororo would never see them again after that, because not a month after they had moved to Egypt a plane crash landed on their home and they died instantly. Which was of no concern to Ororo. Just that her mutant gift had for the first time, though not the last, saved her life.

Now Ororo sat deathly still in her three walled cell, long forearms draped over her bony knees as she stared vacantly into nothing but time and space. Silently she began to reflect on old memories.

Ororo had felt nothing standing in the doorway of her new home, her parents now gone for good. As a runty six year old, verging on her seventh birthday, with limp white hair forced to stand out alongside her dark complexion and the general appearance of a freak to others, she already knew that she did not stand a chance here. Freckles, ginger hair, lopsided ears, buck teeth; none of it compared to her, and now every tormented child at the orphanage could rejoice as the bullies had a new distraction to play with. To divert them from their own miseries.

The burly man who owned the establishment - a one Mr Jones ironically - was a funny man of half affection, half pure-blooded businessman. His setup was quite lucrative, wherein he was paid yearly by desperate parents to quietly take their undesirable children from off their stained hands. It was a ridiculously well paid business, where only the filthy rich with an image to attain were likely to be clients, and Mr Jones did have some sort of buried fatherly instinct not to see these children rot in the gutter. So things usually balance out alright, usually…

Mr Jones stood with a shovel-like hand on Ororo's slouchy shoulder as the two faced the main rec room together.

"Welcome to your new home sweetheart. Lunch'll be in an hour. There's a few grownups kicking about to look after you kids so just holler if you need anything. Okay?"

With an awkward smile and speech over he left her.

The entire rec room, with at least twenty children sprawled out inside in it, had gone deadly silent and now started unabashed at the doorway. Ororo started back blankly.

It took one boy from the middle of the messy room to publicly smirk 'freak' before a general murmur fell over the room once again, and business resumed among the children as normal. Ororo had expected as much. The kids had never liked her in her old estate either. Her only friend had once been a goldfish called Goddess and she had always been fine with that. Goddess had been a great fish after all…

Something suddenly alerted her from her reminiscing. One of the heavy steel doors from the end of the corridor was opening. This was the only time the long ward ever went completely silent. Thick apprehension laced with real terror evoked the place, almost unbearably. Storm simply hated it, and she knew it got on Logan's nerves. Everyone waited on tenterhooks as the emerged scientist, flanked always by three armed guards, who stepped into the ward cockily, seemed to take forever to pick his next test subject.

It came as no surprise when he eventually ordered the girl Ororo knew only as Miss Frost to be taken out from her cell and brought with him. She was dreadfully popular as a test subject.

This was what Logan and Ororo had grown to know of the place in what they guessed was now the past week; the epicentre of human experimentation on mutants. They were all simply test subjects, waiting to be poked and prodded until the humans could find some use and harness for each of their gifted abilities. So far Xavier's pair had only received several physicals, but they knew their time would come soon, and by the greedy looks on the scientists' faces Ororo sometime felt it seemed their time would last longer that they might be able to hold out for rescue…

----

Time was becoming a precious element within the mansion. It had been four days since the abduction and Scott most strongly of them all felt this was no good. Bound from action only because they were waiting for backup to arrive in various forms, for now he felt the most useful thing he could do was give Remy every scarp of detail that he would need to know. The boy was in for the briefing of his life.

Scott started with one word: "Genosha."

Sitting at the long oak table in the mansion's underground prep room, Remy stared silently back at his mentor through a mop of overgrown brown hair. Apart from overhearing the word several times in the past four days now, as of yet it meant nothing to him. So Scott crossed his arms over his chest and continued, talking initially in a mysterious monologue, perhaps to emphasis the whole affair, Remy guessed.

"It's a name that in a few years time we feel every mutant will grow to know well and fear more. It's a name you'll wish you had nothing to do with by the end of this whole affair, and I'm only sorry that you have to be involved in all of this at all. We didn't want any of you students to find out, not unless we felt you were ready enough with your powers to one day in a near future tackle it if you ever had to. This name--"

Remy coughed quietly, not bold enough to say it but wishing so hard that Scott would just jump to the point. The teacher nodded curtly and continued less dramatically, but still as seriously.

"It's the name of an island located between Madagascar and the Seychelles Islands in the Indian Ocean. For six years myself, the Professor and the other teachers as well as other senior mutants across the world have been keeping secrete but close tabs on its going on's and main activities. Remy," he caught the boy's devil red eyes in the glare of his own crimson shades, keeping a level of severity between them, "it is a dangerous place, beyond anything I am sure you have ever experienced before. Its entire economy is based around its underground labs which house and concentrate solely on human experimentation on mutants. On that island we have no rights, and off it we are seen as fair game to their hands, if they ever wanted us. Furthermore there's not one government on the planet who feels the desire to stop their projects or help us defend ourselves against them. When it comes to Genosha Remy, it really is us against the world."

For a long time after Scott had finished it seemed there was nothing but a heavy silence. From upstairs just a level above them could be heard the faint cries of students, all blissfully unaware of just how hateful a world they had to live in.

Remy could not hear them though as he stooped deep in thought, one thing constantly coming back to him. He liked her. Ororo, he had never in his life wanted to befriend someone the way he wanted to befriend her. Suddenly that one chance rooftop encounter had changed him completely, if even only in the company of one person. He wanted to know her, share himself with her, tell her things he thought he would never tell another living being in all his life. He thought he could, and he would, until just four days ago. Then that had all been shattered, literally taken away in one foul swoop.

So if Scott and the Professor were going to offer him the chance to bring that all back then all he wanted to know was how. Consequences and dangers were just an afterthought.

"What's de plan den?" he asked quietly, not use to speaking any other way to people.

Scott wore a sad smile. "Still willing to join us then, even though you've had the 'big scary lecture'?"

Remy simply nodded.

"Okay then. First we need to wait for some old allies to call back with some backup, because going in as we are would be pushing just it a bit. Meanwhile though we've decided on a general course of action." He watched Remy's unflinching pose at the table for a moment before diving back in. "Genosha has several weak points, all residential areas where the regular inhabitants of the island live. The best one of these for a vantage point comes from the main Eastern harbour which is purely used for fishing boats and general transportation on and off the island. Here is where we'll make our entrance…"

Scott went on to Remy about using one of the frequently run ferries to board the Eastern harbour posing quite simply as work lackeys for the very institution that gave Genosha its sole reputation and its place on the map. They would be there to 'deliver pre-packaged lunch food for the staff dinner halls' and from there pick up the rescue part of the mission once they were inside, and in theory it would be as simple as that.

Remy already hated the idea, viewing it quickly as some movie show-rate plan that Scott must have gotten from watching too much television and spending too much time as the cinema with Ms Grey. He expressed his concerns in slightly less words however.

"It don't sound very full proof Sir. Sounds like it be awful easy to get caught in fact."

Scott smiled weakly again. "The thing about Genosha Remy is that we're dealing primarily with humans here. Not just humans but human securities and human scientists. The best way to infiltrate a human base in our experience is to keep it simple. Posing as delivery men for food won't arouse suspicion. Going in sneaky or all gun ho would."

Remy lifted a brow very slightly.

"Dey wont look for you out in dey open…"

Scott nodded, but his face fell solemn once again. "I wont lie about this. Getting in should be easy. Rescuing will not. Once we get into the levels that Ororo and Logan are in, it wont be easy getting back out with them. Nor do we think it'll be easy to stomach a lot of what will probably be going on in there. If it's human experimentation allowing to be let loose on the human anatomy for the first time since the passing of the Renaissance, then I doubt they'll be much holding back, and no sympathy. Not for mutants. So Remy, are you still willing?"

Stillness for a moment lay between them, and silence enveloped the room. Then slowly, but firm with determination, Remy nodded. "Always."

Scott beckoned for him to stand up and follow him out the room.

"Good. Jean's just informed me that her package has finally arrived. For this mission we'll have a few tricks up our sleeves, that much I can promise…"

----

Ten minutes later Remy and Scott stood further down in the mansion's labyrinth of basements, in the centre of one of its brilliant white labs, accompanied now by Dr Grey. With a pair of chunky black spectacles slid all the way down her long, somewhat eloquent nose, she seemed to radiate excitement with flashing emerald eyes, despite the sombre circumstances.

"It finally arrived this morning," she addressed them hurriedly.

They all turned to face a small brown cardboard box which sat looking perfectly normal on a cold steel table in the middle of the room. Jean eagerly began to open it and Scott watched as he stood behind Remy, arms folded across his chest. Remy looked silently between the two before focusing his attention on the box, brushing aside some of his messy, over grown fringe from his face.

"It's all the way from Scotland this package, with contents designed by Moira MacTaggert herself. Got to envy her genius sometimes, so you do…"

Scott threw Remy a sympathetic smile, knowing all too well what it was like to be completely baffled by Jean. Finally though she began to pull things from the box.

First she laid out before them a bunch of silver bracelets, simple slivers of metal uninteresting to behold really. Then she put down a handful of what Remy quickly guessed to be security tags all attached with bright yellow rope. There were also two veils of pale green liquid which Jean put distinctly to one side and a letter of many pages long scrawled in neat black handwriting. Jean stuffed this in her lab coat pocket.

"We'll be taking these with us to Genosha," she spoke specifically to Remy, bright shinning eyes focused on him. "They'll be invaluable assets, and more than likely if anything keeps us from getting caught in the end, it'll be these."

She tossed him a bracelet and a tag which he caught deftly in one gloved hand. He started at them carefully, yet still failed to see the great excitement that Jean seemed to behold in them, so she began to explain.

"The bracelet is an adaptation of the Genosha Collar; a device designed by the top scientists of the island to block out any mutants' power once worn around the neck. The bracelet ,on the other hand, _masks_ powers from any form of power-detectors that we know Genosha are currently using. This 'bracelet' has been in design for years, for as long as we managed to get our hands on a live Genosha Collar, so we'll be the first to truly try them out on the island."

For Jean the prospect seemed to light up her face in sheer joy. For Remy it seemed to swallow up his heart in whole.

"Now the security tags are simply brilliant, a personal favourite of mine's," Jean grinned. "Slip it on over your head and it will offer you over forty different disguise settings. Moira's been using this kind of technology for a while to help more-- obvious mutant powers become disguised when in public. It's a favourite of Professor McCoy's whenever he's going to a ball game for a little R+R, though his comes in the form of a rather fetching watch."

The more Remy listened to the doctor, the more-- quirky he realised she was. He was beginning to find it a little fascinating when he paid attention to other people's characters.

"Within these tags the most relevant settings for us come in forms of 'delivery man', 'scientist' and 'dog'."

This time Remy couldn't stop his brow from piquing up. Jean laughed.

"'Dog's' great for out in the streets. Might sound a little far fetched but believe me it works."

Remy was adverse from asking why she knew how it worked so well. Instead he quietly asked another question.

"Dere's only four tags and four bracelets. I thought Scott said der would be backup comin' wit' us."

Jean smiled somewhat wryly this time. "This _is _our backup Remy. Unfortunately in some ways our strongest allies lie in people with brains to provide technical backup. As for brawn, well it's hard to convince many other mutants to come on such a… risky mission as this when relationships do not lie as strong with them."

Jean mysteriously left it that.

"Hank's nearly done with your new costume in the hanger Remy. So that just leaves one more thing for us to do."

Remy turned round and faced Scott blankly. The teacher smiled in a manner he hesitated to call proudly, as he had never seen someone look proudly upon him before.

"You need a codename."

Remy frowned.

"It's essential. Any records they may have of you on Genosha will undoubtedly contain your real name. So when we're off on missions like this it's a strict rule that we only refer to each other in codenames."

Remy was beginning to come back to an image of Scott sat alone in a cinema hall relishing old crime classics and detective titles that no one cared to know of anymore.

"Jean is Phoenix," Remy shook his head as he was forced to concentrate again, "and I'm Cyclopes. Hank will be known as Beast and you--"

"Gambit."

Scott faltered, stopping himself short of giving Remy the name the Professor had already decided on.

"Ah wanna be known as Gambit den, if ah have to be known as anything else."

Scott turned to Jean a little baffled, and Jean simply shrugged.

"Alright then," Scott slowly smiled. "Gambit it is."

He held out one broad hand for the young boy to shake. Slowly Remy took it, and they shook heartily together.

"Welcome to the team Gambit. Welcome to the X-Men."


	9. Author's Note: Signing Off

_Author's Final Note._

We move on. That's life. I'm not preaching, it's just the truth and it's the best thing for any of us to experience, live through, survive.

I started this story when I was in high school, when I was yet to be so frustratingly hindered by inhibition and was as such free to create and devout so much of my time to fan fiction: To writing, and to what I loved to do with my writing.

But then I went to college and now I'm in my final year of a degree I love and like anybody else who eventually dips out of the depth of a fandom, I simply haven't the time in my life to go back into it and dedicate such a mammoth expression of admiration for these characters that I still hold dear, as was when I was in full swing of _Show Class._

However, sentiment sticks, despite life's conniving way of moving you along and it does tug to read a new review of this story by some pleading reader demanding to know when it will be carried on, brought back and duly concluded.

I had epic plans for _Show Class_, worthy of the length of a five series show. The 'Genosha Island' saga was to be only the end of a beginning for these teenagers and their tangled destinies. But... I haven't the energy for it anymore than I do the time. If I'm writing fan fiction now it really is just as a private vent, or a honing of skills. Nothing more, and nothing public, and rarely anything to do with OC/AU X-Men characters.

_So_, I present it to you now, the reader, the fellow FF author, to anyone interested and passionate and creative enough to want to adapt what I've only just begun into their own rendering of a tale of love, angst, humour and young life.

In all honesty I would be surprised to find any real response to this offering. But it is out there now, open if you'll only get in touch with me first. I do hope someone takes up the mantel, because if nothing else this was perhaps the most fun I ever had with fan fiction, and I truly would love to see it come back to life, and to end deservingly.

~Telaka


End file.
